Fields of Battle
by Goody
Summary: Premovie, Arthur and his knights work to stop a band of thieves by setting a trap with Lancelot as the bait. But when things go wrong in battle, the hardest thing proves to be getting home alive.
1. Setting the Trap

A/N - I own none of these characters, I believe history has the property rights. Anyway, I have seen the movie twice and also read the novelization so I think I have a pretty good understanding of the material. This story takes place before the movie, so no Guinevere or any romance of any kind. There is an extra knight in this story named Narian, but you can mostly ignore him. He doesn't speak because he has no tongue and doesn't do much, I just thought there should be more than seven of them since it's pre-movie.

Just so you know, I'm a big Lancelot fan so he takes up the brunt of the story, although I also have a soft spot for Tristan and Galahad.

Rating - PG-13, there's violence and some cussing from our dear knights. Drama, h/c, action/adventure

Summary - Pre-movie, Arthur and his knights work to stop a band of thieves by setting a trap with Lancelot as the bait. But when things go wrong in battle, the hardest thing proves to be getting home alive.

Different Fields of Battle

By Goody

"Arthur, this is possibly the most boring plan you have ever come up with, I have barely moved in hours. I cannot take this anymore, I am getting out," Lancelot was clearly resolute in his decision and pulled back the wagon's curtain, intent on leaving. Riding alongside on horseback Arthur stopped him forcefully and tried to push him back inside the coach but the knight would not budge from the doorway.

"You cannot force me into this dreary cabin, I will kill you first, and you know I can," Lancelot added when Arthur would not relent.

"Peace Lancelot, it will not be much longer; we entered the mercenaries' territory over an hour ago, we're bound to be attacked soon. Just sit in your grand chariot and enjoy the ride," Arthur instructed but Lancelot was clearly not pleased, he was practically twitching from so much inactivity.

"I tried that for the first two days. If these pillagers do not arrive soon I shall have to start cutting friendly throats just to keep awake," Lancelot said. Arthur smiled, amused that his friend was practically whining.

"You agreed to be the bait, therefore you must sit in the coach alone looking pompous and defenceless. That is the way of a Roman commander."

"I think I would make perfectly fine bait on horseback," Lancelot pointed out, once more attempting to leave the wagon. Arthur pushed him back again, this time with his heel. Lancelot cursed him. "And just to be clear, I did not agree to anything. All of you conspired against me and forced me into this position. And may you rot in hell for it."

Arthur chuckled for it was true that he had been forced into being the bait in their trap to catch the mercenaries that were robbing Roman transports and attacking villages. The night before they were set to leave Bors and Gawain had decided to force Lancelot to take the coach by hiding his horse, thus leaving him with no way to travel, and it had worked quite well. Even Arthur did not know where the horse now was and Lancelot had no other choice but to act out the position of a Roman high chief in their ruse and ride in the wagon.

Lancelot tapped his fingers impatiently against his sword hilt, "My talents are wasted here, you know that. I would serve best at the front of the line, repelling assaults. Someone has to keep the rest of you fools alive."

"Tristan and Galahad will be quite fine without you," Arthur pointed out. "Consider this though, when the thieves do attack us if they believe you to be a Roman legionnaire you will undoubtedly be engaged first and most often in the battle."

Lancelot crossed his arms, hardly satisfied, and mumbled, "But until then I am forced to sit by, idly. Why must I be the bait anyhow?"

Bors, having heard their bickering, also rode up alongside the coach and replied, "Because you're the prettiest."

Gawain laughed from the driver's seat above. Lancelot punched the ceiling and told him to be quiet.

Arthur laughed as well. "Come Lancelot, as fearless as our knights may be, you know you are the only one with any hope of passing as a Roman commander."

The handsome, brown eyed knight knew it was true, most of the others would need several bathings, haircuts, and a complete change in personality to even come close to passing as an arrogant Roman of any high position, but that did not include their leader.

"So why aren't _you_ the bait, our dear _Roman_ captain?" Lancelot asked.

Arthur shrugged, "Someone has to keep you from getting killed." Then he sent his horse spurring forward, ending the conversation. Bors laughed at Lancelot's anger and then moved off as well, back on alert for any signs of the mercenaries they were supposed to stop.

The knights had received the news a week ago about the group of thieves and outlaws that had banded together and now spent their days attacking, killing and stealing everything they came across; this included villages, outposts and any transports that were not under the heaviest guard. Several important people had been killed, and highly valued items stolen so as always, Rome had turned to the knights to solve this problem for them. They were to find the mercenaries by any means necessary and dispose of them, either through death or incarceration, though imprisonment to the Romans was as good as death as the knights knew all too well.

But they had accepted the mission and planned the trap they were now instituting. Word had been spread that a high-powered Roman commander would be travelling with large sums of money and little protection so as not to draw attention and would pass directly through the area the mercenaries frequented most. They could not be sure that the news had reached the thieves but they set out with the plan in any case, eager for battle and putting an end to their carnage. Lancelot, as the Roman chief, now sat in the ornate wagon, bored but prepared for battle, Gawain drove the horses, his own weapons hidden beneath his seat. Galahad and Tristan rode at the front of the line, with Arthur and Bors on either side of the carriage and Dagonet and Narain at the back. With only six guards, the wagon would appear as an easy target to the thieves, but it would take a great force to overcome the eight Sarmation knights that truly defended it.

All the knights were on high alert as they travelled. Since they were unsure of the number or skill of their enemy they knew it was best to be cautious; if the thieves had greater numbers than had been guessed by the Romans this mission could quickly turn ill, and if they had any skill with a blade whatsoever it could go even worse.

As the other knights sat at full alert, inspecting the trees and horizon, Lancelot sat isolated and bored in his little cabin. He had sharpened his blades as many times as he thought they could endure and his inactivity only increased his longing to use them. He did not kill for pleasure, but the sooner these mercenaries showed up the sooner they could die in self-defence, he thought with a grin. Leaning back with a sigh, Lancelot closed his eyes and listened to the world outside, as he had done throughout this entire, tiresome journey. The wind was blowing, rustling the leaves, the wheels of the wagon clicked as they turned, the horses' hooves all dropped rhythmically, and then a new sound - Tristan's eagle called from the sky. No sooner had the cry gone out then an arrow appeared inside the cabin, lodging itself in the wall not an inch from Lancelot's head.

The knight turned and smiled, strapping on his swords. His friends were shouting battle cries outside and more arrows struck the wagon.

"Finally," Lancelot exclaimed, then jumped from the cabin and joined the battle he had been waiting for.

The mercenaries were vicious. They charged head on, fearing no sword or arrow. Few of them had any considerable skill with a blade and relied on brute strength in battle, which they had in abundance. Fortunately Arthur's knights had both skill and power, and though they were outnumbered more than eight to one, they were all confident they would leave the battlefield the victors.

Leaving the wagon, Lancelot found that their enemy was attacking from the northern side of the road, and only their arrows had yet reached them. Seeing this, the knight took a moment to stretch and flex his hands as they gripped his two blades. Gawain and Bors had also dismounted, preferring ground hand to hand combat, Arthur, Galahad, Dagonet, and Narain were charging forward on their horses, with Tristan only slightly behind, steering with his knees and firing arrows with deadly precision into the crowd of outlaws that were emerging from the treeline.

Several of the mercenaries were dropped by the onslaught of arrows but the main force continued forward and soon joined the knights in battle.

Those on horseback split into two groups. Galahad and Arthur stayed close to one another, hacking at men with their swords or sometimes using the strength and size of their horses to trample their enemy down. Dagonet and Narain took up a charging pattern, running through the line of men and then doubling back and striking once more, their steeds moving gracefully through the lines as the thieves fell like practice targets. Tristan stayed back and in the middle of the four horsemen, picking off any attackers his comrades may miss.

On the ground Gawain, Bors, and Lancelot were surrounded by the cutthroats. Standing where they were, it appeared to the thieves that they were guarding the wagon, and any man that chanced to pass by one of the knights' blades alive immediately jumped atop the coach, searching it for the gold and precious jewels they had been told would be there.

Gawain and Bors rushed into the center of the men, slashing in wide arcs to take out as many adversaries as possible. Beneath Gawain's blade many men were separated from their heads, while the more unfortunate lost an arm or leg, a much slower yet just as sure death. Bors had attached his arm blades which turned every stroke of his hand into a lethal blow; these weapons did not so much hack off limbs as much as tear a body to shreds - he mostly used them to rip through the torso of his enemies, or perhaps cut their throats.

Lancelot spun his two short swords with practiced ease. Though a few men attacked him head on, he spent a greater deal of time fighting back the rows of thieves that tried to commandeer the wagon, thinking it to be filled with treasures. There was no such cargo of course, but Lancelot knew they could not spare the horses, and the wagon did not belong to them either, so he supposed they should return it. As he parried and sliced into another man that was trying to drive the horses away, three mercenaries ran to the coach and pulled open the curtain, peering inside.

"Where's the Roman commander?" one asked when they found the cabin empty.

Lancelot jumped down from the coach.

"Right here," he announced, swinging his blades into a defensive position once more. The first two men rushed at him, their single blades each clanging against one of his own. He spent a moment toying with the two, pushing them forward and then backing away, all the while out-maneuvering their sword play. Then, as he realized more arrows now flew through the air and he had best watch out, he skewered both men at the same time and then turned to find a new battle even before their lifeless bodies hit the ground. He did not see the third man who had retreated back to the treeline.

The rest of the knights noticed the increased numbers of arrows now soaring through the air as well, and knew they did not come from Tristan's bow. Those still on horseback pulled out their shields for protection, while those fighting on the ground ensured their enemies were always at their front, blocking them from any coming arrows.

With his arm blades Bors cut two quick, fatal slices across the midsection of his opponent then spotted arrows coming at him from the treeline. He grabbed the man closest to him in a fierce chokehold and held him in front of his own body, chuckling when three arrows lodged into the mercenary's chest. Throwing the now dead body back to the ground, he waved to the treeline at the archers, "Nice shots!"

Arthur fought off all the men around him and looked to find the source of the arrows. They were emerging from the trees, their archers unseen in the branches.

"Tristan, the archers are there. Can you strike them?" Arthur shouted to the scout as he pointed to the treetops.

Tristan did not reply, only notched another arrow in his bow and fired. A dead archer fell from the nearest tree. Arthur smiled and Tristan appeared satisfied.

"How could I have doubted?" Arthur said as he rode off again when more mercenaries appeared from the forest. Excalibur continued to easily cut through air and flesh, and as Arthur passed he sent the head of a thief flying while the rest of his body slumped to the ground.

A man who had lost his sword in the battle ran toward Dagonet and jumped on the back of his horse, trying for a choke hold on the knight's neck. Dagonet was more annoyed than threatened and pulled to the left and sent the thief flying to the ground, then trampled him with his horse and moved on.

Lancelot had cleared away most of the men around the coach and they all now lay on the ground, dead or dying. Looking across the field he checked the status of his friends and smiled to see them all still fighting. The smile faded when he saw Galahad exchanging blows with two men on the ground, unaware of the other coming from behind. Yelling would be useless, for Galahad was deaf in battle, so Lancelot hefted his short sword and threw it the twenty yards it needed to reach. He smiled when the man dropped dead and Galahad turned, having disposed of the others, just in time to see him fall as well. The two knights smiled and nodded in acknowledgement of the act, but just as Lancelot was about to return to the fight he stumbled back three steps and the smile vanished from Galahad's face as he watched.

Breathing was suddenly difficult and Lancelot looked down to see an arrow shaft protruding from his abdomen. The pain and shock sent him to his knees where he stayed, focussing only on pulling air into his lungs.

TBC

More coming soon. The next chapter is finished but needs tweaking and I have to post at the library for now so it may be a few days. Hope you all enjoyed. Goody


	2. Taking the Bait

Oh, I'm so happy you're enjoying my fic. I got so many nice reviews, you people are wonderful (individual thanks at the end of the chapter). Mostly h/c and banter in this chapter, but please don't think that the action's over yet.

Fields of Battle

By Goody

Galahad watched in horror and sadness as Lancelot was struck and collapsed. He immediately tried to make it to the injured knight's side but more men were suddenly in front of him, forcing him back and making him fight.

From the treeline, the man that had escaped Lancelot's blade earlier at the wagon now spoke with his commander, who was still hidden in the trees with an extra score of men.

"The man who was just struck claimed to be the Roman commander, he fights like one at any rate," the man reported.

The leader of the band of thieves looked out on the battlefield and watched Lancelot as he stuck his sword in the ground and used it to help rise. The knight managed to make it to his feet just as he was rushed by another of the ruthless mercenaries. Though his movements were noticeably slower, he was still able to bring up his sword and decapitate the man before he could make a single stroke with his own blade.

From the trees, the commander saw this and agreed that he was the Roman chief they were sent after.

"Let's go then," he said to the dozen men waiting for orders. "And bring him in alive for God's sake; no one will pay a ransom for a dead commander."

Now the group of men broke from the trees, far to the left flank where only Lancelot, Galahad and Gawain now fought. The band headed straight for Lancelot, though some were intercepted and killed by Gawain, while Galahad was still finishing off a few of his earlier opponents. Seeing the group approach, Lancelot took a deep steadying breath and tried to force away the debilitating waves of pain spreading from the arrow wound. It worked only marginally, but he held his sword with a steady hand and was prepared to fight.

With a battlecry to help him find strength Lancelot joined the thieves in battle, trying to kill as many as he could in quick strokes. Pain racked him though and his strength was failing him; this battle was no longer for enjoyment, it was for survival. He brought down the first man with ease, he had been running at full speed to rush the knight and Lancelot had only to sidestep, trip the man and impale him on the ground. When he turned back he found two more opponents waiting for him, and now with only one sword, he engaged both. Lancelot unleashed a flurry of parries and thrusts that kept both men at bay, but eventually realized they were not trying to kill him for he could have been overtaken by now by the large group. Just as the thought hit him so did the hilt of a sword, colliding directly against the back of his head. Lancelot fell to all fours, stunned but still gripping his sword. The thieves moved in like vultures.

Across the field Arthur noticed the battle was thinning within his ranks, but still played out strongly on the other side of the field where Galahad, Gawain and Lancelot fought. Then he looked again, more closely - _where was Lancelot?_

With a stab of fear in his heart he spurred his horse to the other side of the battle, leaping over men and slicing into several to clear his way. He reached Galahad first who was still fighting off mercenaries. Galahad saw his captain come near and turned to him, swiftly calling out, "Arthur! Lancelot!" he pointed to the circle of men now gathered across the field, but could say no more as two men swung at him. He ducked their blades and walked through an opening between them, cutting both their bellies open as he went.

Arthur understood the rushed message though and dashed across the field trampling any who tried to stop him. As he approached he could see Lancelot motionless on all fours in the circle of men, which meant he still lived at least. Then he was suddenly very much alive and moving, quickly. Without warning the knight lifted his blade and swung a wide arc, taking out two men at the legs and sending them to the ground in agony. Lancelot tried to rise further but was kicked hard in the side of the head, once, then twice, and lost consciousness completely. A large man with blond straggly hair seemed to be in command and ordered two of the men to pick the knight up. Each of his arms was hefted onto one of their shoulders and they began to drag him off the field.

With a cry to urge his horse on faster Arthur manoeuvred in front of the group, blocking their retreat. Before he had fully stopped he jumped from his saddle, and stood tall, the blade of Excalibur drawn and pointed towards the men. The thieves stopped in their tracks, appearing unsure, except for the blond man who had been leading the way.

"Put him down and you may leave this field with your lives," Arthur said, his voice even but still heavy with intimidation.

The blond leader smirked, confident with his men around him, and took a step back towards the men holding Lancelot upright. He grabbed a handful of the knight's hair and lifted his head, placing the blade of his sword next to the knight's exposed throat.

"Put down your sword or he dies here and now," the man replied, the sharp edge slowly pushing further into Lancelot's neck. Arthur weighed his options - he could take them all he knew, but not necessarily before Lancelot's throat was cut. If he surrendered he would be killed as would his friend later when they discovered he was not a Roman commander. Trying to consider everything, he sought out his other knights.

Looking across the field he saw that all around the small group the battle was in its final clutches. Dagonet and Narien had killed all on the right flank of the battle and were searching the bodies for survivors, unaware of what was happening to their backs. Tristan finally took out the last of the hidden archers, Bors was pulling an arrow from his leg, and Galahad and Gawain were moving across the field to stand beside their captain.

Before Arthur could choose the best course of action though Lancelot moaned and his eyes fluttered open. He was immediately alert and took in his surroundings, Arthur in front of him, his arms held firmly and a sword to his throat.

"Well, this is interesting," Lancelot commented, his ever present smirk returning. The leader of the thieves turned to him when he spoke, Arthur took a step forward and the leader spun around again, not daring to take his eyes off the knight. Lancelot took the opportunity to move and, using the men holding him as leverage, kicked the leader of the thieves hard in the chest, knocking away him and his sword.

Arthur also moved, plunging Excalibur into the blond man's chest as he was falling to the ground. The men holding Lancelot dropped him and took up their swords. The knight fell to his knees, breathing heavily and searching for a weapon. Now Galahad and Gawain had arrived and the few remaining mercenaries fell to their powerful blades, while others were being dropped by Tristan's arrows from across the field. Some tried to flee, but the knights were determined to stop this group here and now.

Lancelot sensed a man approaching from behind. Scouring the ground he saw no weapons within reach and he had lost both his swords. Now desperate for any kind of defence, he gritted his teeth as he snapped off the shaft of the arrow still deep in his gut and spun around. Standing up quickly he shoved the arrow directly through the man's throat. The thief stood for a moment, staring in shock as blood bubbled in his neck and refusing to die until the knight pushed him down almost casually and then started to walk away, one hand placed loosely over his throbbing wound.

Around the field men died in pain, brought down one by one by the mighty Sarmatians, until at last the battle was over. Gawain ran the last man through, and it was done, the knights were victorious once more.

Lancelot barely noticed. He only made it a step away from his final opponent before Arthur appeared, bloodied and sweating from battle, but concerned and not hiding it well for once. The captain placed a hand on his friend's shoulder to steady him.

"Lancelot, can you hear me?" Arthur asked when it appeared his comrade was unresponsive.

The knight was finding it hard to focus his sight but recognized Arthur in front of him. He pointed to the man and announced, slightly slurred, "Next time, you're the bait."

"Gladly," Arthur nodded and for a moment it looked as though Lancelot may be all right, but then he tried to take another step, his eyes rolled back and he collapsed. Arthur caught him easily beneath the arms and lowered him to the ground. The others were beginning to gather now - Gawain and Galahad were already behind Arthur, Narian and Dagonet were galloping over, Bors was limping closer while trying to slow the blood streaming down his leg, and Tristan was riding over but his eyes remained fixed on the forest, ever watchful for attackers or spies.

Arthur looked at his knights, only Lancelot and Bors appeared injured but all eyes were turned to the fallen Lancelot.

"Is he dead?" Galahad asked, steeling himself for the reply. They all prepared for the worst, having experienced it often enough; they knew to hope for life in their world was to meet disappointment.

Arthur placed a hand over Lancelot's mouth and felt the intake and exhale of air.

"He's breathing," he reported and knew his knights would do all they could to ensure he continued doing so.

Dagonet was holding the reins of his horse and moved to his saddlebag, removing cloth and bandages. In their line of work the knights carried only three things with them - food, weapons, and bandages. They also had a few herbs and plants known to fight off infection, but none of them were healers of any sort. Dagonet laid the bandages next to Arthur who was removing Lancelot's battle armor with the help of Gawain. Once the armor was off the arrow could be properly removed. They ripped away his tunic and then Arthur took a firm grip on what was left of the arrow shaft.

To Dagonet and Galahad he asked, "Hold him down in case he wakes."

The knights held down a shoulder each while Gawain lay over both legs. With a breath of regret Arthur pulled the arrow free from his friend's flesh. Lancelot jerked and gasped but did not awaken. Arthur cursed when he saw what he had pulled out.

"The head came off," Galahad said, seeing just the shaft in Arthur's hand.

"We'll have to leave it for now; he needs a real healer," Arthur replied, prepared to move Lancelot now. None of them were trained for this and he feared causing more harm than good if they did more.

"We should take it out now," Tristan said, having been listening as he watched the woods. "A loose tip in his gut will do more damage than the arrow did, especially once he gets on a horse."

Arthur considered it and knew it was true, every step the horse took would drive the arrow in deeper, or to the side, causing irreparable damage. The arrowhead had to come out, but he could not do it himself. He was too close to Lancelot, his friendship meant too much to him, so much that he could not risk being the cause of his death, or injury, even if by accident. Knowing this he looked to his knights, clearly agreeing with Tristan and asked, "Any volunteers?"

"I'll do it," Tristan said without hesitation. He passed his bow off to Narain, a strong swordsmen, but he had a good eye and instructed him to keep watch on the woods behind them. Kneeling beside Lancelot he turned to Arthur, his calm gaze showing no fear or trepidation, "I've done this before."

Arthur took comfort in that, even though he was probably lying since he could not recall a time any of his knights had needed an arrowhead pulled out.

Gawain spoke up though, believing the archer, "Did your patient live?"

Tristan smiled, almost to himself, "I'm here, aren't I?"

The knights all backed away to give him room since he was clearly the expert of the group on the subject, and their respect for their comrade, although thought to be immeasurably high, grew even more.

Arthur turned to Bors, whose hand was still staunching the blood flow from his own arrow wound.

"How's your leg?" he asked.

Bors smiled like it was a stupid question, "Bleeding. Went in clean though, didn't touch the bone. I'll be fine." He assured him, proof enough being that he was standing on it without complaint. Arthur nodded and turned his attention back to the ground. Tristan had only a bandage over Lancelot's wound for now and had asked for a thin piece of long metal. Galahad rummaged through his saddlebag for a moment and came back with something suitable. Tristan handed it to Dagonet, knowing he was the strongest of them all.

"Bend that as far as you can but don't break it," Tristan instructed. Dagonet did as instructed and Tristan was satisfied with it, taking it in his hands to bend it several more times, making it more flexible. He also took a small dagger from his boot and said he was ready. Looking at Arthur he added, "He's probably going to wake up."

They all understood and took position again, holding down Lancelot's arms, legs, and chest.

"Make sure you keep him still," Tristan ordered and without further warning began. He threw away the cloth he had used to soak up the blood and then slowly, but with great precision and steadiness, placed his small knife just inside the wound to keep it open and then used his new instrument to dig inside the gash for the arrowhead. Lancelot's body twitched and his head lolled but he did not make a move or sound until, after searching for a few moments, Tristan announced, "Got it" as he finally had a firm grasp on the arrowhead.

Then Lancelot's eyes shot open, glazed with pain, and a strangled cry came from his throat as he tried to escape the agonizing fire ripping through his flesh.

"Hold him," Tristan said sternly, not wanting to lose his grip on the object before he pulled it out. They all pushed down harder on the knight's limbs, immobilizing him.

"Lancelot be still," Arthur demanded but his friend seemed not to hear him.

Wide-eyed and gasping, Lancelot took in his situation and saw it was his closest friends that were holding him down, putting him through this torture, "You bastards, what are you doing?!" He demanded, still writhing as he tried to escape.

Tristan was concentrated on his task, so Arthur answered as he pushed Lancelot's shoulders down further, "You have an arrowhead lodged in your stomach. We're trying to remove it."

"So stop your whining and thrashing," Bors commanded. He had only Lancelot's legs but was surprised by how much strength it took to hold him down.

"Then hurry up," Lancelot said through gritted teeth after taking several deep breaths, then added. "I would rather have the arrowhead than Bors laying atop of me like this."

Bors was tempted to punch him, but with the pain he was in he knew that Lancelot would not feel it. But the banter undoubtedly distracted him from the agony, so Bors continued, "Better me than Dagonet here, he hasn't bathed in weeks. Maybe months."

"So you're telling me I have a choice between stench and pure horrid ugliness," he swallowed back a wave of pain. "I shall have to think about it then."

"No you won't," Tristan said, still focussed on his task. With a final jerk and hiss from Lancelot he pulled out the arrowhead, bloody but intact. "I'm done. You can let him go."

All the knights breathed a sigh of relief as they released him, then most took a step away. Arthur knelt on his other side, across from Tristan, relieved but putting on a facade of mild concern.

Arthur's thoughts were already moving on to the dread of trying to move the knight and return him home. It was a three day journey at heavy gallop and that was an especially unenjoyable pace when injured. He expressed none of this for the time though and instead asked, "How do you feel?"

Lancelot coughed once and closed his eyes then replied, "Like one of Tristan's practice targets."

"Not likely, if you did you'd be dead," Tristan said, picking through the pile of bandages.

Arthur and Lancelot chuckled at the archer's arrogance.

"Well, the thieves are dealt with so we'll be returning home. Rest for now," Arthur instructed as he rose to speak with the others.

"To hell with that," Lancelot exclaimed about to push himself up. Arthur moved to stop him but then Tristan spoke.

"Sit up first so I can bandage you, then you can do what you please," the archer said, sounding casual but knowing Lancelot should not be moving around.

With an aggravated but beaten sigh Lancelot nodded and then slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, clearly not wanting any help. It was not offered and Arthur moved off to speak with the rest of his knights who were now packing their horses and checking the dead.

"How is he?" Galahad asked when Arthur approached.

"He'll live most likely. Nothing seems to stop that man." Which Arthur was silently grateful for.

"Except a gullible woman," Bors huffed from the ground where he was tying a cloth wrap around his leg.

"Yes, there's that. In any case, I do not believe this is all of the mercenaries, but we have dealt them a stiff enough blow for now. We have to get Lancelot back to the outpost, then we'll return and deal with what's left of these thieves," Arthur decided, and though no one objected they did have some reservations.

"How are we going to move him? The wagon was stolen," Gawain pointed out. Though Lancelot had defended it well, as soon as he had fallen the mercenaries had taken the opportunity to commandeer it and were now far from reach.

"Bishop Yertan won't be happy," Galahad noted, speaking of the coach's owner.

"To hell with Yertan," Dagonet said. "If he wants it back he can go after the bastards himself."

Arthur was surprised he hadn't noticed the wagon's disappearance and cursed that it had been taken; it would have been the safest and most comfortable way of moving the injured knight.

"He'll have to ride the supply horse then. Narian, go unpack it and distribute the baggage between the rest of us," Arthur ordered. Narian moved off and did as asked of him. He never said anything and some would say it was because he had little to speak of and was a dumb brute, but the truth was he had his tongue cut out by the Woads some years earlier and could not speak. But he could fight with the best of them and was a valued member of their company.

The knights spoke briefly to decide on the route they would take home, then just as they were about to move out Tristan came from behind them, his face bearing the same neutral expression it always did.

"We might not need that supply horse unpacked. He's unconscious again, and I can't wake him, he won't be riding anywhere himself," Tristan reported, pointing behind him where Lancelot now lay alone. Arthur walked back with him to the fallen knight's side.

As the two left, the rest of the knights walked through the field, plucking arrows from the dead to replenish Tristan's bow, while Galahad searched the ground, eventually finding Lancelot's fallen swords.

"What happened?" Arthur asked, kneeling down and checking his friend's breathing again.

Tristan, still standing, explained, "He started to stand up and then he just fell back down without a word. The pain must have overwhelmed him, since he hasn't lost that much blood yet."

"He was hit in the head a few times that I saw, it may be the cause," Arthur said as an explanation, only now noticing a bloody gash in Lancelot's hair from when he had been struck. "In any case we have to get moving. We'll keep the supply horse unpacked, he'll ride with me until he awakens."

Arthur turned and whistled. His horse replied swiftly and he mounted it just as fast, motioning for the other knights to ride up alongside him. Tristan helped heft Lancelot onto Arthur's horse with him and despite all the jarring the knight still did not shift. The group assembled quickly and were ready to leave the carnage left on the field.

"Galahad and Gawain, take point. Tristan I believe your skills would be of better use at the rear this time, make sure we aren't being followed," Arthur instructed. Tristan nodded and moved to the back of the lines, ever watchful. "Let's go home."

And with those words the horses and knights immediately perked up and they galloped along the road, eager to rest and enjoy the food and women that waited for them at the outpost on 'the wall'.

At the center of their line, Bors was not looking forward to the women very much for once.

"Vanora's going to kill me. I leave for a week and when I come back I'm a limp bastard," he said to Dagonet, indicating his leg.

"I thought you were always a little limp," Dagonet commented crudely.

"Not in a hundred years - have you seen my rows of bastards? I've got too much down there actually, it's a problem sometimes. Like a baby's arm, holding an apple."

Dagonet had heard it all before and rode further back down the line with Narien.

"It's true!" Bors called out as he left, then chuckled to himself.

Galahad and Gawain were watchful as they rode but also whispered about Lancelot's health and the long ride home.

Behind the two, Arthur and his passenger rode alone. Keeping only one hand on his reins, Arthur kept the other over Lancelot's chest to steady him and so he could take comfort in the beating of his friend's heart and be certain he was alive. They rode at a fast gallop, covering a lot of ground, and though Arthur wanted to make the ride smooth, he wanted to get Lancelot home even more, so spurred the group on to their fastest speed.

TBC

Don't know when a new chapter will be up, I am quite busy in the next week or so, but I'll try.

To you wonderful people who reviewed:

Roslyn – Happy to see another Lancelot fan. Thank you for appreciating the effort I put into each one's characterization. If I get anyone wrong, please let me know.

Wregy – I updated, but the next one may not be for a week or two. I suggest savouring this chapter.

PadawanMage – Lol, I wish I had thought to have Bors blow him a kiss, it would have been perfect. I'm so sorry, but I can't read your fic just now. I recently moved and I don't have internet at my house yet. I do my writing at home and then post at the library.

OrliBloomedMe – Wow, I didn't know you could use words like that in reviews, but I don't mind since it was in the good kind of way. Just caught me off guard. Your reviews made me smile, it was quite passionate. Thank you very much.

Brownwyn/moonmip – The novelization is okay. I like to read them because the deleted scenes are all in there and you get insights into a few more of the character's thoughts and feelings. One weird thing though, throughout the whole thing Tristan is written as Tristran, it confused me.

Auroranights – Not a lot of banter this chapter with Lancelot unconscious and all but I hope you enjoyed it anyway.

Katherine4 – Thank you for liking the fight scene, I take pride in those. And this story is alternate universe or anything so Lancelot can't die, but you can still injure him severely I always say.

Gurry – Why didn't you think you would like it? Bad summary? I'm glad you did in any case.

Idril Ancalimon – Live! Please, I updated!! Live! Cliffhangers are evil, but I LOVE writing them.

Szhismine – You are not the only one who suffers from loving to see their favourite character get hurt. It is such a strange thing to enjoy, but clearly a good percent of fanfiction writers do. Including me. And it's not like the hurt is over either. There is much planned for our knights.

Kniggit – Yeah, Tristan and Lancelot were both great in the movie and they're fun to write. You should like the future chapters then.

Eh, man – Oh, thank you so much. To think I helped the entire section of Arthur fics is very kind. H/c forever!

Hell on Hooves – I didn't find Lancelot's death very moving but only because of Arthur's "Not like this, never like this" line. I'm from Canada and there's a beer commercial that uses that exact same line, so it made me laugh. Very inappropriate, but it was a good commercial. He still should have lived though, both my fave guys died in that one.

Ithil guesser jedi – Oh, more Lancelot for sure. If the novelization's right he should have had a few more lines, but nothing major. I thought he was great though.

Trinity day – what a nice long review, so few of them these days, and it was my first which made it great. Thanks for the kind words which I will try to live up to.

Whew! That's all for now. I hope to have more soon. Tell your friends, Goody!


	3. Sealing Wounds

Sorry it's been so long, the library's was closed until today so I couldn't post. I don't know what's worse, waiting for new chapters, or having a new chap written and not being able to post. Anyway, I think the fic is turning out nicely and I have to thank all of you for your great support. Best reviewers ever! Hope you enjoy this chappy, and if you thought the action was nearing an end I beg to differ for it's just beginning.

Fields of Battle

By Goody

It had been nearly an hour since the three mercenaries had stolen the wagon from the knights and proceeded to the rendezvous spot to meet with their companions, but still they sat alone beneath the large oak waiting. No one else from the battle had yet arrived.

"Where the hell are they?" Remus asked, becoming impatient and nervous.

One of his companions, Turin, was not worried but annoyed, "They probably forgot they were supposed to meet here before we returned to Thieves' Haven."

They all smiled at the thought of their sanctuary, 'The Haven' for short. It had once been a normal farming village, but then the mercenaries had come through and claimed it as their own. The few villagers left lived in fear of them and they had all the food and women they could desire, as well as all the money and goods they had stolen.

"They could not all have forgotten. We are to meet here and travel back together, so no one gets left behind," Remus reminded them all.

Sitting by himself in the shadows of the oak tree, the most reclusive of the three, Merinus, sat idly chewing on a piece of hay.

"Maybe they're all dead," he suggested. His companions laughed.

"Of course Merinus, our company of more than eighty men must have easily been defeated by the, what, seven guards protecting this wagon," Turin replied sarcastically.

Merinus shook his head, disgusted by their stupidity, "This was obviously a trap you fools. There is not a single piece of gold or jewels on this wagon and those were not mere guards, which should be obvious to anyone who saw them fight. They were knights, surely. Already they had killed a drove of our men before we left, undoubtedly more have died since then. Perhaps all."

Turin and Remus were not completely convinced yet but the seed of doubt had been planted in their mind.

After a moment Remus spoke, "Let's go back to the road and find out what happened." His companions agreed and they turned back around to follow their steps.

Nearly an hour later they found carnage and death as they had never seen before. Not even within their own ranks of mercenaries, thieves and killers had they seen so many slaughtered with such precision and skill. The field and road were impassable with the wagon there were so many bodies and body parts littering the ground.

"They are all dead. Merinus was right, the knights killed them all," Turin said in shock as he saw the dead laid out before him, some his friends, some his enemies, some strangers but all members of The Haven.

"There might be some still alive," Merinus reminded them, jumping from the coach and walking slowly through the field. Turin and Remus followed and they split off in three directions to search for any survivors. The search seemed pointless as they flipped over or kicked one bloody corpse after another, but in the end their efforts paid off and they discovered not one, but two of their companions alive. One would survive, he had a gash in his leg but had only been knocked out, while the other only had moments more to live.

Merinus knelt next to the man who still had one hand wrapped tightly around the arrow in his chest.

"Do you know who it was that did this? Who attacked us?" Merinus asked the dying man, shouting and speaking slowly so he would be understood.

With his last reserves of strength the man nodded and then replied brokenly, pulling in huge gulps of air, "It ... wa ... Arthur."

Merinus and Turin's eyes widened in shock and the man on the ground took in his last breath and died. Remus however, having come from the far south, had never heard of the great Sarmation knights and was confused.

"Who is Arthur?" he asked.

The others stared at him in disbelief, "Not someone to be trifled with. He is a Roman captain of a prestigious band of knights. They have never been defeated in battle, any battle. Some say they cannot be killed."

"All men can be killed," Remus said, not impressed.

"Well then, they cannot be killed by anyone that has yet tried. They are Sarmations, born only to kill and serve," Turin said, suddenly infinitely grateful he had left the battle early. These knights in their elements were gruesome beasts of destruction and hard to behold.

"We have to get to the Haven and tell Eviran," Merinus said, moving back to the coach. He was confident that Eviran, their leader, would know how to handle the knights, and if not, then at least escape their wrath.

The wounded man limped with them to the coach and did not look pleased by what he had to report, "We must also tell him that his son is dead."

The three men had not considered that. They had known that Eviran's son had come with them for the raid but only now noticed that he was not among the living.

"His body is over there, if you would like to return it to him," the man said, pointing to a small group of bodies to their left.

Merinus took Turin's arm and led him across the field, "Come on, we better get him. Eviran will not be pleased."

None looked forward to telling their merciless and violently impulsive leader that they had not only failed, but they had lost all their men, including his son. They wondered if they would live to see the sunset.

Left alone now with the wounded outlaw, Remus asked, "Did you see who killed him."

The man nodded, "It was the captain of these destroyers. It was Arthur."

Hours passed and the sun set with the knights stopping only once to water and rest their horses. Arthur had taken the opportunity to check Lancelot's wound and found the blood loss to be substantial, with no signs of slowing. The knight had also not woken up throughout the day.

Fighting down his concern, Arthur re-bandaged the injury and ordered his knights to set out once more. Now that they had put enough space between themselves and the mercenaries he slowed their pace in hopes of helping Lancelot heal. They rode until almost two hours past sunset; hardly anyone spoke and no one suggested that they were riding too hard since the sturdy knights and horses could endure much worse. But when the night started getting colder Lancelot's breathing changed from healthy, to shallow and harsh and his skin became clammy and increasingly pale. Arthur called his knights to a stop.

"He's getting worse, we have to make camp," he explained. They all agreed and rode just a few minutes more until they found a suitable spot.

"Narian, Dagonet, start a fire," Arthur ordered as he dismounted and pulled Lancelot down from the saddle with the help of Gawain. Tristan trotted up to his captain.

"I'll scout around."

Arthur nodded and Tristan disappeared into the forest to secure their campsite, watchful for any unnatural sights or sounds.

As Arthur and Gawain set Lancelot down next to the building fire, Arthur checked the knight's wound again.

"He's still losing a lot of blood," he reported dismally.

"Do you think we should cauterize it?" Gawain asked hesitantly. They had all seen wounds cauterized enough to not be squeamish of the sight, but it was never a joy to do it to one of their own.

"Yes, it would be best," Arthur said, clearly reluctant.

"He'll be fine Arthur. We close the wound, he'll get his strength back and then he'll be his usual cocky self again. He'll probably be insulting us before the end of tomorrow."

"I would guess around noon myself," Arthur replied his stoic expression never breaking. "We should do it now then so he may have the night to rest and recover. Go heat up an iron and get some of the others to help hold him down, I'll try to wake him."

Gawain did as asked and Arthur tried to wake his friend, knowing he would only be arising to more pain. He was tempted to leave him unconscious but having a wound seared closed would wake any man and without warning Lancelot could bite through his own tongue or worse.

"Lancelot? Lancelot wake up, it's urgent."

No response. He shook the knight as he continued.

"Lancelot, we are under attack. Arise quickly!" Still nothing. Sending out a prayer for forgiveness from God and his friend, Arthur briefly applied pressure to the bandage over Lancelot's stomach. The knight's head jerked back along with a hiss of pain. Arthur called out his name several more times and then finally Lancelot began to open his eyes.

"Arthur?" he asked, groggy and trying to focus.

"Yes, here, drink this." Arthur held a flask to the knight's lips and he drank slowly. When he was finished he managed a bare nod of thanks.

"Where are we?" Lancelot asked.

"About a half day's ride from the battle," Arthur replied. Still weary, Lancelot's eyes suddenly began to slip shut once more.

"No, Lancelot, stay awake," Arthur urged him, shaking him again.

Lancelot tried to swat him away, "Go away."

But Arthur could not allow him the rest he desired. "Lancelot, you must stay awake. Can you hear me?"

"Of course I can hear you. I was shot in the stomach, not the ear," Lancelot replied, his eyes were still closed indicating he wanted to sleep but he was clearly more awake then he appeared. "What do you want?"

"Peace, a wife, and many strong sons, but I will settle for you opening your eyes and looking at me," Arthur said nearing exasperation.

"You want a wife?" Lancelot asked in mock surprise, but then he cracked open a single eye and sobered when he saw the serious expression on his friend's face. With great effort he fought away the fatigue pulling at him and gave Arthur his full attention.

"What's wrong?" he asked and tried to sit up but stopped only inches off the ground. Pain shot through him from his abdomen and he lowered himself down again.

"That's what's wrong," Arthur replied. "You've lost a lot of blood, we've got to cauterize the wound."

"Oh fun," Lancelot mumbled sarcastically. "I should have just let Galahad die." He took a deep breath and then his face was set in a mask of readiness. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

Arthur clapped his friend on the shoulder and then rose to speak with Gawain. The iron was hot enough and the others were ready. Without words the knights took position, Galahad and Gawain on each leg, Narian and Bors each taking an arm and Dagonet on his chest.

Lancelot turned to Bors as he knelt beside him, "I thought I said I'd rather have an arrow than you lying atop of me again."

"You did. I'm here for spite, and I brought Dagonet and his smell with me," Bors replied.

"This is how a real man's supposed to smell, not like that soap and lillies scent you get after bathing," Dagonet noted.

Lancelot chuckled, "Well no one would ever accuse you of that."

"Especially since lillies wilt when he walks by," Gawain added.

The banter ended abrubtly as Arthur appeared with the iron, the pointed tip pulsating a burning red. Kneeling down, he willed his arm to steady and looked to his knights. They reinforced their hold on their comrade's limbs as Lancelot lay bare chested on the ground and took in three huge breaths. Arthur gave the knight a thick strip of leather to bite down on and then, with a steadying breath of his own, placed the burning metal into the open wound.

The sound of sizzling flesh was horrible and almost immediately replaced by Lancelot's scream through his clenched teeth. While his body spasmed from the overwhelming pain, his skin burnt and fused. All the knights flinched and turned away. What felt like hours later, when Arthur pulled the iron away, nearly all the bleeding had stopped.

"Done," Arthur announced as he took a wet bandage and placed it over the wound, knowing it would only help in the smallest degree. Lancelot remained conscious, gasping for air and trying to quell the trembling in his limbs. Every breath brought forth such agony that he briefly considered to stop breathing. The other knights released their comrade and took a step back. The scent of their own friend's burnt flesh had invaded their senses, taking away any appetite they had for the supper roasting above the fire.

"That wasn't so bad," Galahad said, simply glad it was over.

Lancelot looked at him incredulously as he gasped for air, "You want to go next?"

Galahad said nothing and turned away, mumbling something of his horse needing tending. The others left as well until just Arthur remained with him.

He had checked the wound quickly and was satisfied with it, "There's no sign of infection, I think you'll be fine."

"The women back home will be happy to hear it," Lancelot smirked, and though his eyes tried to shut he asked a festering question. "Did we finish our mission?"

He had missed the day while he was unconscious and his few memories after being shot were hazy.

Arthur shook his head, "We're done. Rest for now, we'll talk in the morning." Lancelot began to open his mouth. "I said rest Lancelot, this may be the only chance you get."

The body numbing weariness took over then and Lancelot fell into a healing sleep.

Later that night the remaining knights sat around the blazing fire as it roasted their supper, talking and joking.

"Those bastards were barely worth our time. The Romans could have handled them if they were willing to send the troops. They fought like they were taught by their grandmothers," Bors complained, poking at the fire in hopes it would cook his meat faster.

"They must have been following your example," Dagonet muttered, but all heard him and laughed.

Bors threatened him with his knife but Gawain continued, "They couldn't have been too bad if they managed to get you."

"And Lancelot." Galahad added.

"A few stray arrows finding their mark do not make them good fighters. They hit more of their own men than they did us," Bors pointed out, and none could dispute it.

"Perhaps we are just so good that no enemy can now meet our high standards," Gawain suggested.

"Or the rest of the world is getting worse," Galahad put in.

"Naw, that's just you," Bors laughed.

"At least I wasn't struck by one of those 'worthless warriors' back there like some people," the young knight slung back, kicking at Bors's injured leg.

"Having Lancelot save your backside doesn't make you a better fighter," Bors announced, his good humour dampening slightly to be replaced by mild anger.

Galahad was visibly surprised that Bors knew that Lancelot had saved his life and gotten injured doing so. The large man smirked in triumph.

"I see everything on the battlefield. I have eyes like a hawk."

A thin air of tension had mounted but was soon broken by Gawain adding, "One of those old near sighted hawks that are close to death, I assume."

Everyone laughed, none harder than Bors who agreed.

"That's exactly the one I meant."

Silence fell a few moments later and most eyes turned to Lancelot who lay on the ground behind them, blanketed and silent with the light from the flames making his pale skin appear on fire. Galahad motioned towards him, "He's sleeping an awful lot."

Gawain shook his head, "It's a serious wound, he's lucky to be alive."

"He lost a lot of blood too," Bors commented, having felt slightly weak from the blood loss of his own more minor wound. "He'll be fine."

Arthur just looked into the fire, concerned for he was the only one aware of exactly how much blood the knight had lost already. The long ride had been hard on Lancelot, and Arthur hoped that with rest his wounds may begin to heal.

"We should all take Lancelot's example and find some rest while we may. Dagonet, take first watch, Gawain, take second, and Galahad is third." Arthur instructed after they had eaten. They all turned from the fire and unpacked their horses. Just as Arthur was laying down his bedroll Galahad approached with a plate and a water flask.

"Do you think it's possible to wake him again? He really should eat something, or take some water at least," Galahad said.

"I've been loathe to try, but perhaps the smell of food will make him rise," Arthur replied as Galahad knelt across from him.

"We could pretend there are women about, then he would not sleep for long," Galahad suggested, smirking.

Arthur considered it.

"No, we shall try more traditional methods," Arthur decided, and began to shake the knight while calling his name.

It took a few moments but, with a great deal of effort, Lancelot slowly opened his eyes. It took him a moment to focus on the faces of Arthur and Galahad and then his grogginess transformed into annoyed confusion.

"Arthur?" he asked, looking around and blinking away what had been an encompassing sleep.

"You need to get up my friend," Arthur instructed, but Lancelot just closed his eyes again.

"Go away, have you not done enough for one night?" His whole body was still incredibly weak and he wanted only to rest.

"Apparently not," Arthur replied shaking him lightly and watching as the knight became more alert. "Come on, get up."

Lancelot was tempted to swat at him again but knew his captain would not stop, "I'm awake you relentless bastard. You know, if you took this same determination into battle with you, you would kill more of your enemies."

"I'll keep that in mind," Arthur said, watching as his friend began to rise.

Very slowly and trying not to flinch with each movement, Lancelot pushed himself to lean up against a tree, amazed at how weak he was. Clearly he had slept all day but felt like he could sleep for two more. Galahad passed him the water flask which he took and nearly drained.

"Do you want to eat something?" Galahad asked, holding out the plate. Lancelot took it and rested it on his lap; the meat did not appeal to his nauseated stomach but the fruit was welcome.

"So, where are we headed now?" Lancelot asked, having missed their plans of travel.

"Back to the Wall," Arthur said casually, hating to start up this conversation with Lancelot for he knew where it could lead.

"The thieves are dealt with, we're done here," Galahad added.

"You think we killed them all?" Lancelot asked, not believing Arthur would be foolish enough to think a band as strong as that one appeared to be would send all its men on one raid.

"No, but they're crippled for now at least. Bishop Yertan said the Romans thought there were only a hundred or so; we killed near that many," Arthur surmised.

"Well then let's go back and make sure we've wiped them out. I do not relish coming back here in a few weeks time when they will be ready for us to try and finish what we started and play this game again," Lancelot said, knowing what Arthur was not saying. They could wipe out this threat now but instead they were fleeing back to the Wall with all haste, because of him. Because he was hurt.

Sensing a conflict about to arise Galahad stood to leave, "I had best get some rest, I have watch later tonight."

Arthur nodded at his departure but Lancelot would not turn his steel gaze from his captain.

"We should go back," Lancelot repeated, never running from a challenge or a fight.

"The mercenaries will still be there when you are recovered Lancelot. We are going back to the outpost," Arthur also repeated, just as stubborn and resolute as his friend.

"And while we wait more people will be robbed and killed by these men," Lancelot pointed out.

"_Romans_ that you care nothing about," Arthur said, picking apart Lancelot's argument.

"But _you_ do," Lancelot said, his anger dying and being replaced by calm understanding, "You place my health above the lives of innocents and you know I do not deserve such consideration."

"I place your _life_ quite highly, you have saved enough innocents in your time to deserve all levels of consideration," Arthur replied and though he meant every word down to his heart, he had to admit he had worried about the remaining mercenaries. He also wished though that Lancelot would someday realize his own self worth. The knight, though an amazing warrior and fearless, always believed that morally he would be nothing without Arthur. A warrior with no purpose or drive, he would not be looking to save people or make peace, he would be looking for battle and death only.

Lancelot was growing tired again and he felt his eyes start to droop but had to make one final point, "Even so, it does not take seven knights to escort one. If there are so few of these men left it would not take all our numbers to stop them."

The look on Arthur's face proved he had not considered this and could not immediately come up with a reply.

"I'll think about," Arthur promised, and cut Lancelot off before he could argue. "Truly, I will. Now get some rest, no matter what course I decide we will be riding out at first light."

Lancelot tried to deny it, but he was fatigued beyond all measure. With only a nod and half smile as a response his eyes slipped closed and his head fell back into sleep. The change was so sudden that Arthur placed a hand by his friend's mouth again and was comforted by the steady breathing. Arthur sighed and stood to leave his friend at rest.

Throughout the camp the other knights had their bedrolls spread and occupied. Dagonet stood on watch on the other side of camp but Arthur walked slowly away from the fire, gazing up at the stars, lost in thought. He spun when a branch snapped to his left and did not drop his guard until Tristan stepped out from the shadows having finished his scouting.

"Find anything?" Arthur asked as the archer stood beside him.

Tristan shook his head, "Nothing yet, if they are trying to catch us they would still be nowhere close though. We'll be okay for tonight."

Arthur looked back up at the stars considering all their options.

"How close is the nearest town?"

Tristan looked to the north, calculating how far they had travelled that day and the locations he knew of, "There's a village, Omiscrus, with about seventy people, just up and then off the road. We're about a four hour's ride from it now."

That was closer than Arthur had hoped for. His gaze dropped from the sky to the ground where Lancelot lay, pale but alive.

"I heard you talking," Tristan admitted, letting Arthur know he understood the situation and was willing to offer advice.

Arthur wasn't surprised; he turned back to the scout, "I didn't tell him how much blood he's lost, but he seems to think he'll be fine, which is for the best. He wouldn't last through another two and a half day's hard ride to the Wall but we cannot take a slower pace if the rest of those men are behind us."

Saying it aloud made the situation suddenly more real and Arthur felt a cold stab of dread in his stomach. His best friend could die if he made the wrong choice now, and with him would go Arthur's will and the only joy he found in his harsh life.

"The village would take him, they're good people, farmers. I don't know if they have a healer," Tristan said having only been there once.

"He just needs a place to recover while we deal with these murderers," Arthur said, more to himself than Tristan. Seeming to have all he needed, Arthur turned back to the camp. "I'll sleep on the matter. Go rest as well, our next day will be long no matter what the case."

Tristan did so without reply and Arthur turned to his own bedroll but found little sleep. His mind was filled with plans of action, but also with possible consequences, both good and bad. Whatever course he chose he had to consider the lives of his knights, the health of his friend, and any innocents who may become involved. As sleep tried to take a hold on him he decided he could not predict the future, despite all his considerations, and would do what he felt was right, as he had always done. He knew his close friendship with Lancelot was clouding his judgment with concern but he also knew the choice he had to make.

TBC

Decisions, decisions. Arthur better choose fast because the rest of those mercenaries will be fast approaching. Hope you all enjoyed, I don't know when I'll have more so I hope you're all patient as well.

And to my fantabulous reviewers!!!!

Leap of Fate – this is definitely the most detailed fighting I've ever written in a fic. I hope it wasn't too intense, but I'm glad I got my imagery across. Thanks for your input.

PadawanMage – I liked that line too, but you're the only one who commented on it. I imagine that Tristan and the others have all had some great individuals conflicts and struggles so I mentioned the arrow thing, but now that I think about, that alone might make a good fic. Glad you're enjoying.

AshleyA – Oh, I love finding Lancelot fans, he is a wonderful character, to watch and write. I recommend you continue worrying, because the Lance hurt is not yet done, the other knights just get pulled into it.

Idril Ancalimon – You seem so caught up in the story, thank you for your interest. Will they get followed? Time will tell I suppose. Or I will, I guess.

Regan – Actually, I didn't mention how long before the movie it was. Let's say, three months or so, cause there is still only eight of them. I probably won't mention a lot about the Woads and the knights' freedom though, that's a story all its own as we all know.

Brownyn/Moonmip – Thank you for clearing that up, it makes sense now. I was just picturing the author of the book talking on the phone with the film people and jotting down the name wrong. I almost wrote him as Tristran in the story.

Shauna – That was a fantastic review. Don't worry about reviewing all at once, I have also spent late nights reading fanfictions worrying that I would wake the parents and siblings. I believe all true fanfic readers do it. You have one thing right, if the knights have anything in abundance it's trouble. Hope to see you for more.

Flashgriffin – I also liked Tristan quite a bit, and he gets a good role in the fic I think. A Gawain fan as well though, that surprises me. He was a wonderful character but I think you're the only one who has expressed him as your favourite. Hope I wrote him well enough and thanks for reading even though it's mostly a Lancelot fic.

Eh, Man – I'm from New Brunswick, about as far from you as possible really. I've never even been to the Prairies let alone BC, hope it's nice there. Wow! You get Alexander Keith's commercials in BC? That's awesome, I had no idea they stretched so far. Here's hoping the H/C in this chapter lived up to my previous work.

Satine19 – Thank you for liking the story so much. There is no romance planned for anyone in this fic (but I'm sure you can find something in the rest of the section) but I will be introducing a female character later, I'll be happy to name her Sarah.

Szhismine – Well, you can never have enough h/c, now really. I pretty much spread it throughout the fic, so there's always a little more coming. Thanks for the kind words of inspiration.

Katherine4 – Your phrasing in your review is great. "angsty pain" is a nice expression I will probably steal from you.

Hell on Hooves – Yeah it was probably uncomfortable for Arthur but he doesn't mind, it's for Lancelot after all. I know what you're trying to say with the team work thing and thank you, I like to try and give all the knights a part.

Roslyn – Another Canadian, awesome! We may have to write in to the movie to get an alternate death scene put in the DVD that doesn't copy that commercial, that would make me quite happy.

Don't know when the next update will be, sorry. Hope you'll all be here when it comes though, and I'd love to hear what you think will happen next.

Goody


	4. Different Directions

Fields of Battle

By Goody

Miles behind the knights, hooves pounded against the earth. Several lines of horses galloped through the unfrequented trails within the forest, a faster but less enjoyable route than that of the constantly used Roman road. Each horse had a rider, armed and seeking vengeance. At the head of the pack was a grand black stallion, and in its saddle was Eviran, a heavyset, powerful man with pulled back black hair and the leader of the mercenaries. He shed no tears for his fallen son but vowed revenge instead and now he channeled all his rage and anger into spurring his horse forward and into motivating his men to do the same.

The wagon carrying the only survivors from the battle had reached Thieves' Haven an hour before sunset with news of the devastating losses at the raid. All of the remaining men under him had been shocked and at first did not believe so many could have died, until they heard that Artorius, best known as Arthur, had led the assault. They now knew it had been a trap, in which they had been caught and paid dearly for.

Eviran was fuelled by anger, at the loss of his son's life and for such a wicked deception, robbing him of half of his men. The Romans had been wrong in their guess of the number of thieves that worked together, for they never sent out nearly all their resources for any attack. There were still nearly a hundred men left at the Haven and nearly all of them had saddled up with Eviran to seek out the knights and have their revenge.

Barely more than a dozen remained behind to watch over the Haven and all the riches that were kept there, the others all set out to have blood for the loss of their brothers and friends.

They were hours behind Arthur and his knights but the determined group rarely slowed and would only rest when it was absolutely necessary. Also, they were taking the less trodden paths through the backwoods, cutting several hours from their journey. The battle's only survivor had also said one of the knights had fallen, meaning the others would likely be slowed to care for him.

Eviran's horse led the pack and practically guided itself through the narrow trail they rode on for Eviran had only one thought on his mind, revenge. And he would have it through any means necessary. Coming from the back of the line, Turin urged his own steed forward and pulled beside the man they followed.

"If you don't mind me asking, how exactly are we going to find these knights? We could have passed them on the road by now for all we know," he pointed out.

Eviran did not turn to him, "They are still ahead of us but we'll meet them at Omiscrus, it's the only village we don't control for miles and they'll need help for their companion. We'll trap them the same way they did us."

Turin hesitated before he spoke again, knowing if he angered Eviran in his already combustible state that the man would not think twice of killing him.

"We've been riding hard for hours, we'll need to rest soon."

It was not anger that Eviran responded with but complete dismissal, "We'll rest when we're dead, and so are they."

Turin drew back to his position in the line and said no more.

* * *

The morning came swiftly and the first rays of sun to strike the trees of the forest encompassed the small group of knights, who were already prepared to face the new day.

Tristan had left before dawn to scout behind them to determine if any of the mercenaries were pursuing them, while Arthur and the others remained at camp, eating quickly and preparing their horses. Lancelot had woken last and only due to Arthur's relentless determination to keep him awake and well nourished. The injured knight ate sparingly and then slipped into a lighter sleep until they were ready to move on.

It was nearly an hour before Tristan returned, having been very thorough and precise with his duty as always.

"No sign of anyone behind us, at least not for several miles," Tristan reported to the group. His hawk had not indicated it saw any signs of life behind them and he too had seen nothing after climbing several of the highest trees to check their trail.

Arthur had been awake most of the night contemplating his next move and considering the lives of his knights, his friend, and any innocents that may fall to the mercenaries. Now with his decision made he frowned as he pulled on his gloves, "That might make our next job a little harder then. We're going back."

Most of the knights took on a look of confusion at this announcement, having believed they were heading home, while only Tristan nodded in understanding. Many eyes turned to Lancelot who still lay on the ground sleeping, but before anyone could argue Arthur had continued.

"Some of us at least. Lancelot is nowhere near fit for battle and I will need two of you to escort him to the village a few hours down the road. The rest of us are going back to wipe out what remains of these mercenaries before they hurt anyone else. We cannot return home knowing more innocents may die in our absence."

The knights took this in without complaint or protest. They knew their captain all too well and understood that his morals and beliefs would not allow him to leave until the thieves were eliminated as a threat to Rome and to any who may come across them. It was clear he could not bear to have the unnecessary blood of innocents on his hands.

Reacting quickly and with a feeling of obligation, Galahad stepped forward, "I'll go with Lancelot."

It was not unusual for the knights to watch each others' back in battle, but Lancelot had been injured saving him, the least Galahad could do in return was ensure his swift recovery.

Narian also lifted his head and stepped forward, indicating he would go as well but as always did not speak.

Arthur nodded his agreement, "Thank you. Tristan will tell you how to find the village, the rest of us will double back on the road. With luck we'll meet our quarry coming after us, but if not then we'll continue to the village we were told the thieves have taken over and dispose of them there. We'll meet up with you when we're done, don't leave until we return or you hear news from us. The rest of you, get ready for battle."

"And I thought the fun was all over for this trip," Bors commented with a sly wink and grin as he pulled on his armor.

"Watching you try and show some sort of skill in battle has always been quite amusing to me," Gawain said as he walked past. Tristan and Dagonet chuckled nearby. Bors huffed and picked up an apple which he threw hard, aiming for the back of Gawain's head. Gawain may have dodged or caught the apple, but he never even knew it was thrown as Tristan reacted amazingly fast and snatched the fruit in mid-air, preventing the collision. Bors glared at him but the archer just smiled as he took a loud bite out of the fruit and walked away.

Across the campsite, which had now been mostly packed away, Arthur knelt by Lancelot's side, shaking his shoulder gently. It was not nearly as difficult to wake the knight as it had been the previous day when he was seriously and freshly concussed. Now Lancelot's eyes opened swiftly, focusing easily.

"Morning," Lancelot greeted his captain, smiling for his head felt much clearer and his vision was righted, though his skull still pounded where he had been struck, as did his open wound.

"And to you. We are leaving shortly, you should try to rise," Arthur said and watched Lancelot slowly push himself to a sitting position. He continued on reluctantly, "We'll have to move out shortly, do you think yourself well enough to ride alone?"

He personally did not think the knight was fit to ride by himself, if not only due to the pain involved than because of the danger. Lancelot was quite weak and could fall easily from the horse, but Arthur had the highest respect for his dear friend and felt he had to offer him the choice for pride's sake, as well as respect his decision.

Lancelot looked about him before answering and saw his comrades suiting up for battle, "We're going back?"

Arthur nodded, "Yes, we are."

Lancelot smiled in triumph, infinitely glad his friend had considered his request. Personally he did not worry or care greatly about the lives of any strangers who may be attacked by these mercenaries, especially Roman strangers, but he knew that Arthur cared, perhaps too much, and had turned back only because of him. If Lancelot had not been injured then Arthur would have undoubtedly stayed to fight and he refused to cause his friend unnecessary guilt.

"Well in that case I shall definitely need a horse, as well as my swords, where are they?" Lancelot asked eagerly, pushing himself slowly and gingerly to his feet. Arthur never moved away and rose with him, ready to catch his friend should he falter but Lancelot's movements, though slow, were surprisingly steady.

"I believe Galahad has them but you will have no use for them. _We_ are going back to stop these thieves, _you_ are not." Arthur announced, his tone so firm that Lancelot's features fell in disappointment. "Galahad and Narian will go with you to Omiscrus, it's a village about four hours from here. The rest of us will put a final end to these murderers and meet you there as soon as possible."

"So while you go in to battle and glory I am to run like a dog to lick my wounds," Lancelot accused, scorned to be left behind from such a fight despite what he said the night before.

"No, you are to rest my friend, and recover fully. I despise to force my rank on you but this I will order. You are no good to any of us half dead, which is what you practically are. You have suffered a grievous wound, you must give yourself time to regain your strength," Arthur's words held wisdom and truth, but Lancelot was known for his stubborn refusal of such things.

Lancelot now stood at his full height unaided; one could only tell he was injured from the pallor of his skin and the hand resting loosely over his bandaged torso.

"And if I refuse and follow you instead?" Lancelot asked, testing the ground he held in the argument.

"Then I will turn around and escort you back myself," Arthur replied smoothly and without humor.

Lancelot nodded and a small smile crept to his lips as he accepted Arthur's decision, "This is the best choice I will get I am assuming."

"It's that or you stay here tied to a tree until we come back."

Lancelot pretended to consider it, "I think I shall have to take option one."

"Good idea, but Bors will be quite disappointed. He had the rope ready and everything," Arthur threw back, smiling as he did only when jesting with his best friend.

"Then that makes it well worth it, to know I have ruined Bors's day," Lancelot smirked, walking slowly with Arthur towards his horse.

"It will get better when he starts cutting throats," Arthur said, appearing casual but really watching his best friend closely for signs of pain or fatigue. He knew they were there but Lancelot was crafty and hid them well.

"Something I will miss, sadly enough," Lancelot pointed out, making it his final attempt to change Arthur's mind.

"I'll tell you all about it when we get back," Arthur promised as they reached the horse, already packed and saddled.

Lancelot took in a steadying breath, knowing what was coming next. Most of the others were mounted and waiting only for Arthur to lead or Lancelot to escort.

"Do you want a hand?" Arthur asked, noticing for what seemed the first time how high a horse stood.

Lancelot's pride screamed "No!" but his common sense told him that if he tried to mount the horse alone he would most likely fall, which would be more damaging to his pride and body than asking for help. Setting his jaw, he nodded resolutely. With one hand bracing the saddle and the other grasping his bandaged torso, Lancelot put a foot on Arthur's cupped hands and swung onto the saddle. The pain that ignited in his abdomen was intense but swift and as he leaned forward it receded to its normal constant ache after a few deep breaths. This journey would not be fun, he knew, for his skin had already become two shades whiter from the exertion, but he would see it to the end.

"Rest a minute, I have to speak to Galahad before we go," Arthur instructed once Lancelot was safely perched on the steed. Lancelot acknowledged him but said nothing.

Arthur mounted his own horse with natural ease and speed and trotted up next to Galahad. The young knight was checking his blades but stopped as his captain approached and leaned in close when it was obvious Arthur had things to say that not all were to hear.

In a bare but firm whisper, Arthur gave his orders, "Get him to the village and straight into a bed and then a good meal. He will protest and he will fight and he will lie about his health, just make sure he rests. He should be in bed for at least two more days."

"Do you think me a miracle worker, now?" Galahad chuckled, not able to imagine Lancelot willingly laid up for so long a time.

Arthur saw the humor as well and smiled, "Your best is all I ask, strap him down if you must. Also, be cautious when you arrive, these thieves and killers have caused much anxiety in this area and it would not be hard for the village to mistake you as an enemy."

"I understand. Anything else?"

"Take care," Arthur replied sincerely after a pause.

"I will, but you must promise me the same," Galahad said, reining his horse to move away and come up beside Lancelot. Narian was already there by the injured knight, ready to leave.

Arthur drew his horse next to Lancelot, "You should have all you need my friend, travel safely. Be aware that this time Galahad commands in my absence, I expect you to hold to him the same respect you do me."

Lancelot turned slowly and offered his friend his most arrogant smirk, "You're a funny man Arthur, a very funny man. I shall laugh at that later when it will not be so painful."

"I'm serious," Arthur reiterated, but Lancelot clucked and kicked his horse forward, ending the conversation and starting his own journey.

"Of course you are," Lancelot called back, leading the way.

Galahad pulled up beside his captain and sighed.

"I did try," Arthur assured him.

"I know, I wasn't expecting much at any rate," Galahad replied, then bowed slightly to his captain, waved to the knights behind him and took off after Lancelot, Narian not far behind.

Arthur watched the three until the sound of their horses' hooves faded, and then he turned to his own charges, all saddled and prepared for battle.

"Let's not leave these villains waiting," he called out, exciting his knights for battle.

They roared and lifted their weapons to the air. Joining in their call, Arthur lifted Excalibur and then turned to the south, galloping at his fastest gait. His men were directly behind him, eager for more blood and to continue their unfinished battle.

* * *

Three hours of silence.

The wind blew, the horses trotted, and the animals chirped of course, but these were all the background sounds of life, thought Galahad. Silence could only be broken through speech and he didn't think there would be any of that in the near future. Narian at least had an excuse, having no tongue he communicated through a series of facial expression and several hand gestures, so none could blame him for his silence, but only three paces ahead of him, Lancelot had no such excuse. With a fully functioning tongue (and quite adept, according to his lady friends), Lancelot should have had something to say, anything, within a three hour period, but still silence remained their fourth companion on this journey.

Despite, or perhaps in spite, of Arthur's words, Lancelot stayed at the head of the group, always leading the way and scouting ahead. Every half an hour or so Galahad would increase his fast trot to overtake the injured knight and check his health. He said nothing of course, for this would break their precious silence, but he took in Lancelot's pallor, posture and expression. Always the knight stared straight ahead, not making eye contact as he sped up and left Galahad's scrutinizing gaze once more.

In truth Lancelot despised being injured, but more than that, he hated others seeing him that way. He knew there was no dishonor in taking an injury in battle, but it did prove that he had made a mistake while fighting and that could not be denied. So in order to appear in fit health Lancelot stayed ahead of his companions as they rode, always staring straight ahead and pushing the pain and fatigue he felt from his mind. By riding in the lead he did not have to worry about them noticing the trembling of his limbs, the drooping of his eyes or the flinches of pain every time they rode over more than the smallest pebbles.

They were moving faster than they needed to since Lancelot was pushing himself harder than necessary. After three hours though Galahad knew they should rest, if not only for the horses than to get out of the sweltering heat for a few minutes. A shaded glen appeared beside them and Galahad reined his horse to the left.

"Lancelot!" he called out when it was clear the other knight had not noticed he and Narian had stopped. Lancelot turned around startled, for they had not spoken in their long hours together.

"What's wrong?" he asked trotting back to them.

Galahad shook his head, "Nothing, we should rest a while."

Lancelot rolled his eyes as Narian and Galahad dismounted their steeds.

_What he means is _I_ should rest a while_, Lancelot thought bitterly as he moved his horse into the shade. As much as he wanted to remain angry though, he was exhausted and in pain, a short rest would do him well. He eased off the horse as gently as possible to join his companions but the impact upon landing shook his battered body so badly he had to lean against his steed for support.

Galahad moved to help him but before he reached the knight, Lancelot had regained his composure and moved to sit with them on the ground. His weariness quickly became encompassing warmth and relaxation as Lancelot leaned against the tree, his hand lying gently on his abdomen though he was almost without pain for the first time all day. A few minutes passed and he soaked in the moments of rest. He was so content that almost his eyes closed in sleep but a flask suddenly appeared before him and he saw it was Narian holding it out to him. Almost he turned down the water but Galahad urged him on.

"You haven't had any all day; you know better in this kind of heat," the younger knight said, taking a large swig of his own flask.

Lancelot nodded and took the water, "Thank you."

Narian smiled and sat back down with his horse nearby. When the flask was nearly drained Lancelot set it aside and leaned his head back against the tree, eyes sliding shut. He shifted, trying to get more comfortable, and hissed as his cauterized wound stung him relentlessly.

Next to him, Galahad could hold back his concern no longer, "Are you all right?" he asked, feeling somewhat guilty for having not enquired earlier.

"I'm fine," Lancelot replied curtly without even opening his eyes.

Galahad ground his teeth together in frustration, finally having had enough of Lancelot's silence and dismissive attitude.

"You're not," he pointed out, then, moving with purpose, Galahad stood over the resting knight and kicked him in the side. Before he had pulled away Lancelot's eyes shot open as he gasped and rolled over to try and get his breath.

"What the hell ...?" Lancelot breathed.

Only now able to clearly inspect his companion for the first time that day, Galahad saw the lines of pain creasing Lancelot's face as well as the bags beneath his drooping eyes.

"You are nowhere close to 'fine'. Clearly you are in incredible pain and near the point of exhaustion and …" Galahad thought he noted a strange glaze in Lancelot's eyes. Kneeling next to the knight he placed a hand on his forehead. "… are running a serious fever."

"Bastard," Lancelot mumbled when he was able to breathe again, "What is your point?"

"Why do you hide your injuries and lie about your health?" Galahad asked, finally breaching the true subject. "It hinders your recovery only, and fools no one."

Lancelot almost chuckled but was too occupied at containing his anger at the younger knight, so pointed out, "Battle wounds are not something to gloat about with pride."

"I said nothing of gloating, I meant only that it is possible to simply talk of one's injuries when they are sustained," Galahad replied, trying not to be exasperated by the prideful, cocky knight.

"They should not even be talked about, t'is shameful," Lancelot said, his voice becoming softer as he spoke honestly at last, with his eyes firmly focused on the grass beneath him.

"Why?"

Lancelot looked to the sky as he slowly formed his response, "To be injured is to be proof that mistakes were made in battle, that you alone made an error in judgment on the battlefield and paid for it with blood. Our entire life is battle Galahad, it is all we know, yet if we are not even skilled enough at that to avoid injury than what purpose can we serve? What value can our lives truly hold?"

"I have seen you fight Lancelot, men would give their first and second born to achieve the skill you have with a blade. When faced with impossible odds we all falter at some point. Yet you show concern for your comrades even as you fight for your own life and the only mistake I saw you make yesterday was being distracted by saving my life, something I hope you do not regret, for I have yet to thank you for it," Galahad said sincerely and watched as Lancelot turned this over in his own mind.

"I have no such regrets Galahad, your life is very valuable," Lancelot replied with just as much sincerity but then his lips also quirked up into a smile. "Not worth nearly as much as my own but since I do not plan on dying any time soon, it hardly matters. Now help me up, we should get moving."

Galahad smiled and stood to offer a hand of support. Lancelot took it and Galahad frowned feeling the heat coming off his body. Reaching out, he touched the man's forehead once more.

"You really are quite warm," he said with concern, knowing a fever and a wound such as his probably meant infection.

Lancelot nodded, quite aware of his state of health, "It may just be the heat, but either way, staying here will not help. We should be coming close to the village Tristan spoke of, I'll rest there."

Galahad believed that, knowing he had just broken through a few of Lancelot's many barriers, making it much easier to speak to and interact with him. Behind them Narian mounted his horse, silent as ever; he smiled and nodded to the two, glad they had had their conversation and said several things that needed saying. Galahad wordlessly helped Lancelot into his own saddle, trying not to flinch as Lancelot did, and then jumped atop his own steed.

They were now ready to move on and though Lancelot clucked his tongue first to spur his horse into a trot, he no longer led the way along the road. Instead he pulled back and rode side by side with his companions until they reached the village of Omiscrus.

TBC

More to come, but I don't know how soon. I'm moving into university residence this week and it's probably going to be crazy. But I have great reviewers that I must thank:

Trinity Day – Hopefully I will not let the story die (I have done so with others in the past and feel horrible for it). I visit KA sites often to keep my inspiration up but I'm going to university next week and writing may be slow. I also felt I had a better groove chap 3, I just had a good writing flow going. If only I could turn it on like a switch.

Jemiul – Despite the briefness of your review I had to respond. So many people encourage authors to "hurry up and write more" (myself included) but you kindly said you would wait and that meant the world to me. Thank you for such a delightful and non pressuring review.

Shauna – A long lovely review, your theories and ideas are fun to read and even inspire slightly. The plot's not set in stone in my mind yet so all little suggestions help build it. Keep up the hypothesizing. Europe? That sounds awesome! And you thought of me when you got back, thank you so much.

PadawanMage – Don't apologizing for reviewing slowly, I should apologize for posting slowly. Getting ready for university is tiring but I should put more time into my writing. I liked that line a lot too, I could just picture Galahad's and Lancelot's face as it happened.

Elven writer – those are the qualities I like about Lancelot too, his passion and his strong friendship with Arthur. The two will probably stay separated for the next chapter or so but then there will be a reunion of sorts. Sorry I had to split them up for now but they'll meet again.

Holiday1081 – Oh, so many compliments that I don't know how to thank you. Every word of your review was a wonderful treat and I appreciate that you commented on many different aspects of my writing such as characterization and battle sequences. Lancelot is definitely the best character but Tristan is nice and complex (which makes him harder to write) and I hope to have a little more of him in the next chapter.

Ragweed – Only three Canadians? That can't be right, there's probably lots more. I have no idea where most fanfic authors are from that I read, the rest of the Canadians are probably just hiding. I'm in New Brunswick right now though, where are you?

Gingerbread Cat – Yes, Narian is one of the knights, in this fic anyway, I just made him up myself. And though Arthur killed the guy's son, he may not necessarily be the one in the most trouble. Thanks for reading and thinking about it though.

Flashgriffin – Lancelot will probably be spending more than just the beginning of the fic wounded, but he's my fave and gets the best dialogue so I think that makes up for the pain. Thank you for the cauterization details, I really had no idea, I didn't do any research like I should have. All I had to go on was this scene in Braveheart where this real strong guy needs a wound cauterized and no one will do it because they're afraid of him so they all hold him down instead. H/C stands for hurt/comfort, it's just a story category, kind of like drama or angst but directed more towards getting your favorite character purposely injured like Lance is here.

Your patience is greatly appreciated as I take my time getting new chaps up, I really will try to be quick about it. The action should be starting up again next chapter, but since most of you seem to like the characterizations the best anyway, I may just hold off.

Anyway, hope you all stick around and thanks so much for your great support. Catch you around, Goody!


	5. Hunting the Prey

Well, I'm all settled in to university but I still have no internet in my room, I'm posting from the library. The technician must be ignoring me, so as soon as I have some online connections I'll probably be posting a lot more. Class isn't taking up nearly as much time as I thought so I will probably have lots of time to write in the future. Well, I'll bore you with author's notes at the end, here's the anxiously awaited next chapter of …

Fields of Battle

By Goody

"Nothing. There's no sign of anyone for miles."

Arthur picked up his horse's reins as he listened to Tristan's scouting report, knowing better than to question the archer. In all his years with him, Arthur had yet to see Tristan make any error in his scouting so knew to believe that the thieves were nowhere close by.

"Perhaps they did not bother to try and follow us," Gawain suggested as he also led his horse away from the watering hole they had stopped at while Tristan scouted ahead. "They knew we had a huge head start, they must have known they would not catch us."

"It seems almost too logical for men of this sort, but you're probably right," Arthur said, mounting his horse again. They had been riding for several hours already and would arrive at yesterday's battlefield only a few hours after mid-day. "We'll have to find them ourselves if they won't come to us."

"It's better this way," Bors announced gleefully. "We get to hunt them down; earn our kill."

"You're no better than a starving wolf on the prowl, Bors," Gawain noted, rolling his eyes.

"He's worse," Tristan commented as he fed his hawk. "Wolves kill for food, Bors kills for sport."

"And you don't?" Bors asked incredulously of the archer.

A predatory smile emerged on Tristan's face as his only reply.

Bors laughed, "That's what I thought."

"Let's keep moving," Arthur urged his knights, "I want to be done with these murderers by nightfall."

"You sure we'll be able to find this village they supposedly took over?" Gawain asked, bringing his horse next to Arthur's.

"Bishop Yertan gave us a fairly detailed location, it should be enough."

Bors huffed, "Probably won't need to find it anyway, if they aren't after us then they're most likely picking up their dead. That alone will take them all day."

"To meet their end in the same field as their companions, it's almost poetical," Gawain said smirking.

"Let's not leave them waiting then," Dagonet said, clearly ready to move out again. Arthur nodded and the five knights continued their hard gallop towards their quarry.

* * *

"Lancelot, can you hear me?"

The fog that was slowly clouding Lancelot's mind lifted slightly when Galahad spoke but the knight found it hard to form a response.

"Yes … just … tired," Lancelot said slowly, his breathing irregular and his eyes slipping shut.

After resting earlier the group had started to move at a faster pace; it was more tiring but would get them to the village, and medical aid, much sooner. Galahad had even taken the lead for awhile but was so focused on their path he did not notice as Lancelot's condition slowly worsened. The fever and heat of mid-day were robbing the injured knight of the little energy he had and soon even the throbbing pain in his side was not enough to keep him conscious. When his eyes had finally closed in sleep his horse suddenly had no master and nearly rammed into Narian. The silent knight had pulled to a stop, taking hold of Lancelot's reins to make him do the same. The horse stopped easily but Lancelot remained unconscious and would have fallen from his saddle if Narian had not caught him.

Galahad noticed this and turned around to help Narian pull Lancelot off the horse and place him safely on the ground.

As Lancelot's eyes once again closed in sleep, Galahad sighed and placed a hand on the knight's forehead.

"He's burning up, worse than before," he announced. Narian had heard Arthur explain that Galahad was in charge so waited for his orders.

"I don't want to move him anymore, but we must be close to the village by now," Galahad pointed out. Both knights looked to the sky to check the sun's position and saw it had been about four hours since they parted from the others. Narian shrugged and cocked his head in the direction of the village, indicating he thought they should keep moving.

"All right, we'll keep going. Let him ride with you and I'll tether his horse to mine," Galahad instructed. Narian nodded in agreement and mounted his horse again then helped pull Lancelot into the saddle with him when Galahad hefted him up. Once the knight was safely mounted Galahad tied the riderless horse to his own and they set out once more.

It was half an hour before they reached the village. When they approached they saw a young woman walking along the road leading to Omiscrus but before they could call out to her she caught sight of the hardened warriors and fled through a shortcut in the woods, screaming to the villagers in warning.

"Wait, we mean you no harm!" Galahad had yelled, but to no avail. The woman only screamed louder and ran faster, refusing to listen.

"Strangers! They're here! They're here! Run!" the woman yelled fearfully over and over.

_This might be harder than I thought,_ Galahad realized as they rode into the small village, Arthur's words of warning still echoing in his head. They approached slowly to appear non-threatening but it had little effect on the panicked villagers. Women and children were already running for cover and shelter while the men picked up pitchforks and axes to defend their homes against what they thought to be murderers and thieves.

"Wait, please," Galahad said again, becoming frustrated when he was ignored.

A small semicircle of armed men soon formed around the three knights. Fighting their instincts, Galahad and Narian did not draw their weapons, knowing they needed these people to trust them.

An older man stepped forward from the crowd, one of the few with a real weapon, a long sword, and spoke to Galahad, "Get away! There's nothing but farmers here, you might as well leave now, we don't have money or treasures. We don't want any trouble."

"And we don't want to give you any," Galahad replied, understanding their wariness. He jumped from his horse to speak more appropriately with the man but was immediately bombarded with threatening looks and weapons. He put up his hands and continued, "Sir, I know what you must be thinking but we are not part of the thieves that have been attacking your neighbours. We are knights of Rome. Our party set out to stop these murderers for good and my comrade was injured in battle. We ask only for aid, he is grievously wounded."

The man he spoke to was clearly the village leader and though wary, seemed an honest man. He looked them over, contemplating their story. Lancelot did indeed appear very sick, his skin was pale and sweat dotted his forehead. Galahad and Narian had also drawn no weapons against them, and there were only three after all. But it was possible they were scouts or spies sent by the mercenaries to gauge their defenses.

"You do not look like any Roman knight I have ever seen," the old man commented, noticing that they wore no uniform or mark of knighthood.

Galahad looked at himself and his companions, "We are knights of Rome, but not from it. We are sarmations, under the command of Arthur Castus."

"The great Arthur? Where is he then?"

Galahad pointed to the south, "With the rest of our company tracking down the last of the thieves." When it appeared the man had no more to say or ask Galahad continued. "We would not be staying long and can pay for any care you give."

With a nod and a sigh the man lowered his weapon and with him did the group of relieved men.

"You really aren't Roman if you're willing to pay for anything at all. What is his injury?" the man asked, clearly accepting them as friends.

Galahad smiled as Narian carefully dismounted and, with the help of one of the villagers, gently pulled Lancelot to the ground with him.

"It is an arrow wound, in his stomach," Galahad replied to the man.

With a sweeping gesture the leader motioned them to a large house at their left, "He may stay at my home, I have an extra bed since my son took a family of his own. My name is Lorin, I am the village elder."

Galahad introduced them as they walked, "I am Galahad, this is Lancelot and Narian. Thank you for your kindness. Do you have a healer by any chance?"

"We do, but he is away to another village a few hours from here. A woman there is giving birth and their midwife died from fever this past winter, he will probably be gone for a day or two," Lorin said regretfully as he held open the door to his house. Galahad took one of Lancelot's arms from the villager that was supporting him and helped Narian move him into the house. "It is the room on the right."

Galahad and Narian found the room easily and deposited Lancelot on the bed after stripping him of his outer tunic.

"I think he will sleep for some time," Galahad guessed. "He has been pushing himself too hard."

"We will care for him as best we can. Did you say you had destroyed the threat of the thieves from this land?" Lorin asked hopefully. Their village had been living in fear for months due to the mercenaries and word of their destruction would help many of the villagers, including himself, sleep at night.

"Most of them, we think. We set a trap for them several miles up the road and wiped out all we came across, the rest of our company is searching out any more that may have eluded us," Galahad said, then noticed Lorin looking suspiciously at Narian.

"That is good news," Lorin said, then nodded his head towards Narian. "He doesn't say much does he?"

Galahad chuckled, "He doesn't say anything at all."

"Lorin, I came as soon as I could," A young voice said from behind. The two knights turned to see a boy in his late teens standing hesitantly in the doorway.

"Oh, come in. This is Alex, he is our healer's apprentice," Lorin explained, leading the young man in.

"Well, actually, I'm … I'm practically a healer already, my uh training is almost finished," Alex assured them defensively as he sat on the bed beside Lancelot. He checked the knight's pupils and then laid a hand on his forehead. "How long has he had the fever?"

"Only a few hours, it came upon him quickly on the journey here," Galahad replied watching Alex inspect Lancelot's wounds. The boy may have been meek in front of the imposing knights but it could not be denied he had skill as a healer.

"Maybe we can bring it down just as quickly then. I need cold water and cloth," Alex instructed as he unwrapped the bandage around Lancelot's torso. Lorin excused himself to get the items Alex requested, leaving the two knights alone with the healer in training, feeling slightly unsure of their duty now that their job was done.

The young man's lack of experience first began to show when he had finally pulled the bandage away and saw the cauterized wound underneath. He flinched at first and swallowed loudly, not accustomed to treating battle wounds, but then regained his composure after a few moments.

"This wound is well cared for already; did you cauterize it yourself?" Alex asked, feeling uncomfortable with the knights just staring at him silently.

"No, our captain, Arthur, did it."

Alex's head shot up, his eyes sparkling, "Arthur? Arthur Castus? You are his knights?"

Galahad and Narian nodded, not overly enthused to deal with young fans and their hero worship at the time.

"But … but he's a legend. I have heard so many stories of his battles. What's he like? What kind of man is he?" Alex asked, enraptured by the thought of the noble warrior and momentarily forgetting about the man in his care.

Galahad sighed but his grim look swiftly changed to a subtle smirk. Bending over, he leaned in closer to the boy, making eye contact with him so he would understand his message perfectly, "He is an unforgiving savage on the battlefield, merciless almost, he's wiped out armies even after their surrender; in fact, he would cut your throat without a second thought. As it is that happens to be his closest friend in your care right now, so it may be best to focus on the task at hand."

Alex faltered for a moment then nodded, swallowed fearfully once more and turned back to his task, "I'm sorry, I've just heard so many stories."

"Forget them, they're lies or exaggerations." At least, all the stories he had heard so far were, after all, he was hardly in any of them.

"Oh, well, this wound is … uh … it's not that serious now, must hurt like hell, which you probably know. But there's … there's no sign of infection. I just have to get his fever down; it was probably caused by exhaustion and blood loss," Alex said, becoming increasingly nervous around these knights. It was then that Lorin returned with the requested items; Alex was thankful for the distraction and the company.

"How is he?" Lorin asked when he came in.

"Good," Alex replied quickly and assuredly. "Very good, I think he'll be fine in time, as long as the fever doesn't get too bad. I … I don't think it will."

"Wonderful. Alex seems to have things in hand here, and you both look like you could use a good meal. Would you care to accompany me to lunch," Lorin offered, leading them back into the hall.

The knights accepted but before he left Galahad turned back to the boy once more, his gaze intense, "Remember my words."

Alex nodded, "Task at hand, I won't forget."

Galahad seemed to size him up one last time, then turned back to the hallway to follow Lorin to the local tavern for a meal. Alex sighed when they were gone and focused on the task at hand as he promised. Wetting a cloth he placed it on Lancelot's forehead, mumbling, "I think I may be in over my head. I hope you're more pleasant than your friends when you wake up."

* * *

It wasn't long before the entire village was gossiping about the arrival of the knights and the destruction of the thieves that they had been living in fear of. But the residents of Omiscrus were not the only ones interested in the arrival of the knights.

Outside the village, hiding in the brush, Eviran's most trusted scouts watched the road leading into Omiscrus, watchful for any new visitors. The group of thieves had arrived several hours ago; by taking the shortcut through the woods, hardly resting in the night, and then riding hard again in the morning, they had beat the knights to the village by two hours. The group was now camped secretly in the woods outside the village, prepared for their ambush as soon as the knights arrived.

The scouts sent to watch the road stayed well hidden when the three knights passed, but were confused because they had been told there would be at least seven of them, and perhaps eight or ten.

"That's not all of them," the first scout pointed out when the knights were out of sight.

"The others may be behind, or took another path," the second suggested.

"It's not our job to guess things like that. Go back to camp, tell Eviran about the three we saw, I'll catch up if the others come along."

The second scout agreed and was off running through the brush to reach their campsite. It was twenty minutes before he arrived, panting but eager to deliver his news. He found Eviran in his tent, sharpening his blade.

"Are they here?" Eviran asked, a small hint of excitement in his voice at the prospect of battle and revenge.

"Three of the knights just arrived, the injured one and two others. We haven't seen any sign of the rest," the scout reported, hoping it would be enough to please their leader.

"Was Arthur with them?" Eviran asked, his teeth grinding with hatred at the name - hatred at the man who killed his son and stole from him more than half of his powerful followers.

The scout appeared flustered and surprised by the question, "I do not know sir. I have never seen him, but I do not think so. One seemed too young and the other far too … common to be the Roman captain."

Eviran threw his ale cup to the ground, smashing it, "I want Arthur!" he snarled, then quickly composed himself once more, showing the logic and wisdom he had used to gain his position. "We'll wait a few hours in case the others show up. If they aren't here by nightfall we'll attack anyway, have some fun."

"What if Arthur doesn't come?" the scout risked asking.

"He'll come," Eviran smirked, feeling he understood the knight quite well if gossip and rumor were to be believed. "He won't leave behind three of his knights, from what I hear he can't afford to lose any of them."

The scout had no more to say and Eviran sent him back on patrol, "Keep your eyes open, he's swifter than the wind."

* * *

Alex smiled to himself, content that his life was safe from danger for the time being. The knight in his care was doing much better than he had been several hours ago when he was brought in, meaning those other knights and Arthur would have no reason to be angry. He had coaxed water and soup down the knight's throat to keep him hydrated and with constant care had managed to bring down the fever as well. It was fortunate his friends had brought him in when they did, for a few more hours on horseback, out in the wild, and the fever would not have been nearly so controllable.

He took the damp cloth off the knight's forehead and was pleased to find his temperature was quite cool. But before he could pull away an impossibly fast and strong hand had grabbed his wrist, stilling all movement.

A yelp escaped his lips as he tried to pull away but the grip was strong. Alex looked down to see his patient had awoken and a pair of curious brown eyes was staring back at him.

"Where am I and who are you?" Lancelot calmly asked the frightened teenager as his eyes scoured the room.

"This … this is Omiscrus. You're in the house of the village elder. I'm … uh … I'm Alex, a healer," he stuttered and shook as he spoke, suddenly doubting this knight was any bit more polite than his comrades.

Lancelot seemed to accept this and smiled slightly, then released the boy's wrist, "Very well then," and started to rise. He felt slightly stronger than he had that morning and breathing was not as painful, but his injury was far from healed.

"Well, a … a healer's apprentice actually, but I'm a very fast study. I'm … I'm practically a healer already, I really don't have much … much else to learn," Alex continued on nervously as Lancelot pushed himself into a sitting position. "I mean you … you are doing much better than you were, and I alone took care of you, so I … I guess I'm not so very bad."

The knight stared at him with a note of irritation, "Why are you still talking?" Alex opened his mouth to answer but Lancelot cut him off, "Not a question you answer boy. Where are my friends?"

"Oh, they're with Lorin, I'll … I'll just go get them," Alex said quietly when it was clear Lancelot was not interested in most of what he had to say.

"I'll come with you," Lancelot said, throwing his feet over the side of the bed, then slowly rising and stretching.

Healer's instinct automatically put Alex right in front of the knight, trying to dissuade him, "No!"

Lancelot, who Alex only now realized was a whole foot taller, gazed at him incredulously, "Excuse me?"

"That is … I … I don't think you should be getting up … just yet. You're not … well," Alex's voice dropped once again when Lancelot's look became threatening.

"And are you going to stop me?"

Alex knew he could not, "No."

"Good, then take me to my comrades. I am sure it will not be too strenuous, on me at least," Lancelot said, slightly amused by the boy's awkward concern.

"They're … follow me," Alex led the knight outside and then down the road through the village connecting them to the main street. Narian and Galahad were both on horseback, watching the road and village.

"They have been patrolling since they got here, your friends are a little paranoid," Alex said lightly, trying to get Lancelot to smile.

Lancelot however was not amused, "They're cautious, and they have a right to be." No longer in need of him, Lancelot dismissed Alex, "Go back home boy, it's safer."

"There's no danger here," Alex remarked with a scoff. Lancelot turned to him, his eyes burning into him once more.

"You think not?"

Again Alex swallowed, but he did not reply. He took the knight's advice and went home. Shaking his head at the impertinence of youth that only he was allowed to have, Lancelot approached his fellow knights.

Galahad smiled to see him conscious and standing on his own power, "Lancelot, how are you feeling?"

Lancelot almost answered 'fine' but did not wish to be kicked once more and replied, "Well enough to bed a woman."

"Good to see you are yourself again," Galahad said, rolling his eyes.

"Not quite myself, I did say only _one_ woman after all," Lancelot added. Both Galahad and Narian laughed at his arrogance.

"I shall be sure to warn the village elder," Galahad remarked looking once more down the road.

Lancelot became serious as well, "Any sign of Arthur?"

"None. They will probably be a few more hours, it depends on where they find the rest of the bastards," Galahad said, knowing the others may have to go even farther than they had yesterday in order to find the entire group.

"We shall have to wait then. In the mean time, where can I get some food around here?" Lancelot asked, starving after his hours of unconsciousness.

Narian dismounted and indicated he would show him the way. Lancelot followed him and saw Galahad hadn't moved.

"Are you coming?" Lancelot asked.

"I already ate. You go, I'll stay on watch."

So Lancelot followed Narian to the only tavern in the small village, but before he could enter he found himself shaking hands with a notably strong, old man.

"Hello, I am Lorin, the village elder. You sarmations heal amazingly well, I must say. Not that I am not pleased, but Alex said you would probably be in bed for at least a few days and here you are, up and about," Lorin said, not unpleasantly. Lancelot had no real desire to speak to the man, but did appreciate that he detected no insincerity in him.

"Yes, us _sarmations_ are hard to keep down. You've been speaking with Galahad then," Lancelot stated, mentally noting that he had to have a talk with the younger knight about not revealing their identities. Didn't he know they had enemies everywhere?

"At great length this afternoon. I must go I'm afraid, but you are welcome to stay until you are fully recovered, which may not be very long from the look of you," Lorin commented, shaking the knight's hand again.

"Probably not," Lancelot admitted, knowing they would be gone as soon as Arthur arrived.

"I will speak with you later," Lorin promised and then disappeared down the road.

"I'll look forward to it," Lancelot mumbled. He looked at Narian, who just shrugged, and then followed the will of his stomach and entered the tavern.

From the forest, curious eyes watched all that the knights did, but still no action was taken from the thieves and murderers. Nightfall was coming soon though and then they would hold back no longer.

* * *

"Something is not right here," Arthur said looking over the field. His instincts told him that he had chosen the wrong path, that something was wrong with the decision he had made that day. Arthur believed strongly in following his instincts, for they are a warrior's best companion and what they had come across only increased his feeling that they should turn back.

It was six hours past mid-day and the five knights had just arrived to find the previous day's battlefield exactly how they left it.

"Damn brutes. They must feel no honor or companionship at all," Gawain said with disgust as he gazed over the field.

"They're nothing but savages, they didn't even pick up their dead," Bors added, almost angry at the lack of respect these thieves showed, even to their own companions. Bodies and limbs remained sprawled across the field, untouched from the previous day and the ground was still red with blood.

"What if we were wrong? Maybe we did kill them all," Tristan suggested, not believing that even ruthless murderers would be so uncaring for their dead as to leave them to rot in plain sight.

"That does not seem right either," Arthur muttered, unable to shake the feeling that he had made a mistake. "We missed something. We did not meet them on the road and they have not tended their dead so where are they?"

"At that village we were told about, they must be," Gawain said, seeing no other option.

"Perhaps, but I do not wish to waste a day searching for it if they are not," Arthur commented, now deep in thought on their next course of action. Movement suddenly drew his eye to the far end of the field.

"Down there," he said pointing. He looked to his right and saw that Tristan had noticed it as well. The archer narrowed his gaze and waited until he could pinpoint the source. Then, without a word of warning, he unslung his bow from his back and fired into the tree line. A scream of pain came from the arrow's landing point and the knights galloped across the field to see what they had caught.

"You didn't kill him did you?" Bors asked as they rode, knowing they would need information from the spy.

"I aimed for his leg," Tristan replied. The knights entered the forest and easily found the man on his stomach, slowly dying from the arrow protruding from his back.

Bors shot Tristan a look of disapproval, but the archer just shrugged, "Didn't say I hit it."

Arthur had no time for banter though, he dismounted his horse and approached the injured man. When he turned him over to face him he could hear the rattle of jewelry and gold pieces, undoubtedly stolen from the dead.

"You are one of these thieves, where are the rest of your companions hiding?" Arthur asked, pulling the man up to face him.

"Why should I tell you?" the man hissed as he gasped for breath.

Arthur did not hesitate to respond, his voice thick with intimidation, "Your wound is fatal, but how long it takes you to die is up to me."

The man's eyes widened; he understood the threat.

"Where are they?" Arthur asked again.

"After you," the man whispered, saving his strength for breathing.

"They must be invisible then, we didn't run into them," Gawain pointed out, knowing they could not have been passed without knowing it.

The dying man actually chuckled, "You think this road is the only way through these woods? There were people passing through here long before the Romans came with their roads."

"They took a different path?" Arthur asked, realizing what he had missed earlier and knowing before he heard the answer that he had made a grave mistake.

"Yes."

"Where were they going?" Arthur pressed, somehow hoping they would be nearby or trying to beat them to 'the wall'.

"Omiscrus," the man hissed, his strength fading. "Eviran knew you would take your injured man there."

"But instead we sent him there alone," Bors said disdainfully, angry now that he had agreed to parting with the others.

"Not alone, just without warning," Tristan pointed out.

Arthur saw the dying man's eyes begin to close and shook him, "When did they leave?"

"Last night, before sunset," the man said.

"They would be there by now," Gawain said, not needing to check the sun's position to know.

"You'll never save them. Eviran took almost one hundred, strong. Your friends are as good as dead," the dying thief gloated. Arthur growled and knowing everything he needed snapped the man's neck, ending his life quickly as promised.

"Let's go, there's not much time," Arthur said, mounting his horse once more and turning back the way they had come.

_There's no time at all_, Tristan thought to himself, but remained silent and pushed on north with the others in hopes of saving those they left behind.

TBC

This chap was a bit longer to make up for the time it took to get out. Next chapter is already half done so I hope it won't be long but things may come up.

I have such fabulous reviewers, best to thank them. Here goes:

Templa Otmena – I know well how it feels to tell yourself you will not get sucked into a new fandom and yet here we all are. I'm glad you're here though, thanks for the nice words of encouragement.

Elventears – You sounded a little desperate for more so I will try to get the next chap out sooner.

PadawanMage – Oh yes, that would have been a funny line J but not quite the right fic for it. I laughed greatly when you brought it up though. Glad you're enjoying the interactions.

AshleyA – I'm such a fan of your work that I love seeing reviews from you. The interactions are definitely fun to write, I agree, even more so than action or angst.

MSF – On it.

Jemiul – Oh I didn't mind your English at all, you're quite easy to understand. Thank you for your kind words, any little thing is appreciated so don't worry about it being long.

Bakachan17 – That's an interesting line to have as your favorite, looking back I enjoy it too. Here's hoping this chapter was as well written. Thanks for the nice words.

Trinity Day – Yes, it's my first year at university, it's quite exciting. Always lovely to talk to another Canadian. The action is coming and then it probably won't stop, so hold on!

Shauna – I know I took a very long time to post this chapter and I hope the wait was okay. Europe sounds so fun, glad you enjoyed it. Your hypothesizing is always interesting and even gives me a few ideas every now and then. Things get pretty crazy from here on in.

Holliday1081 – Oh, you're the only one that mentioned the bit about Lancelot riding ahead, thank you for noticing. It makes the little details worth writing when people see them. You're not the only one to mention that line though, it was quite a favorite.

Flashgriffin – No, the attack must wait for later I'm afraid. That is a cool little karma moment you had between movies like that, interesting. Hope you like the way I took the story, even if you may have done things differently.

Elessar King – LOLOLOL, the new chapter dance, I'll remember that one. The battle will be starting shortly, stick around.

Thanks to everyone, please tell me what you think, I'll write faster, Promise.


	6. Trapped Protectors

Took long I know, but I found out this weekend that at university they actually make you do work, I was pretty shocked myself. I should just start a fanfiction school or something, become an entrepreneur, screw university. Anyway, here's the next chappy, enjoy. And if you don't like angst, run along because this is where the good stuff comes. If you do like angst (like me) pull up a chair, grab some popcorn and scroll on down.

Fields of Battle

By Goody

"You're not well, I don't know why you insist on not resting," Alex commented as he watched Lancelot lay out the contents of his saddlebag. The healer's apprentice had been told the knight was asleep again and he could check his wound and temperature but when he had arrived at Lorin's home he found Lancelot to be very much awake and uncooperative.

"And I don't know why you insist on pestering me, it is no concern of yours," Lancelot replied, deciding emptying out the entire bag would be the easiest way to find his lost glove. In truth he had been resting only minutes before the boy arrived. After eating a hearty supper with Narian he had found himself near exhaustion once more; the blood loss had been trying enough before, but the fever afterwards had also drained him and though his wound was healing it still made movement and even breathing a trying chore. He had returned to Lorin's house and slept for several more hours; it was now dark and he was determined to take his shift at watch with Galahad and Narian.

"Perhaps it is my concern," Alex said, surprising Lancelot from his own thoughts.

"And why should I, a stranger, be any concern of yours?" Lancelot enquired.

Alex seemed hesitant for a moment and crossed his arms, "Well, I am a healer …"

"Healer's apprentice," Lancelot pointed out.

"Yes, a healer's apprentice and it's my duty to be concerned for my patients and …"

Lancelot waited for more, "Yes?"

Alex sighed in defeat and confessed, "I was told if you were not recovered and healthy by a certain time it would be my head."

"So, you are only concerned for me because _my_ good health ensures_ your_ good health," Lancelot chuckled. Alex nodded and the knight seemed to truly look at him for the first time as he placed an affectionate hand upon the boy's head. "Self preservation, now that I can respect."

Alex smiled and asked hopefully, "So, are you going to rest?"

"Not a chance," Lancelot replied swiftly. "But I will see your life is spared if my health becomes questionable."

"That's fair," Alex said continuing to watch as Lancelot sorted through his gear, returning some to the saddle bag and laying most of it to wear. His armor, gloves, scabbards and swords were all there and he put them on piece by piece. When at last he reached for the twin swords Alex asked, "Why do you have two?"

Lancelot smirked as he twirled them and then placed them on his back, "That is a long story."

"I'm not going anywhere," Alex replied, his curiosity about the knights once more getting the best of him.

Lancelot looked at him and seemed to weigh the boy's sincerity. When it was clear he really did want to know, the knight motioned that he should take a seat. The boy sat at the edge of the bed and Lancelot removed his twin swords once more.

"I was about your age, eighteen I think, and under the command of a Roman legionnaire, Biretor. Now, Biretor had a brother who was a legionnaire of the same rank …"

But while Lancelot sat with Alex, regaling the boy with his coming of age battle story, Narian and Galahad remained outside on watch. They had sent their horses to the stables a few hours ago for some needed rest while the two knights remained near the road on foot, ever watchful of the village and any signs of their comrades. So far there had been nothing and as the last light from the sun vanished, they found it increasingly hard to keep watch.

"I'm going to go get a torch," Galahad said, turning back to the village. Narian nodded and stayed where he was looking towards the road.

Galahad walked casually into the village and found Lorin sitting with an old woman in front of a small home.

"Oh, good sir knight, I was just discussing how kind it is for you and your companion to keep watch over our village," Lorin said, his smile as open and thankful as it had been all day.

"It's no trouble, we don't do much else," Galahad explained.

The old woman's eyes became saddened at this and she stood to walk to her door, "Would you like to come in for a drink or something to eat?"

Galahad shook his head, "No, I will stay on watch, I'm in need only of a torch."

"Of course," Lorin said, and motioned for the woman to fetch one. She retreated into the house and came back with the needed object, unlit.

"Here you go," she said passing it to him. Her eyes were motherly with concern, "Be careful and make sure you get some rest eventually."

Galahad was not accustomed to such concern and stuttered over his reply, "Um, I will … thank you." Then he walked to an already lit torch across the street to light his own off of. The tip caught quickly but he did not turn around. A snapping noise to his right caught his attention and he froze, listening for it again. His eyes scoured the trees as his right hand unsheathed his sword. Another snap and he drew his head to the left, then there was another at his right again. Knowing that he was in grave danger, he slowly began to back away, his footsteps taking him back to the home Lorin sat in front of.

Upon seeing the knight walking back towards him, Lorin stood up and called to him, "Galahad is something wrong?"

The young knight knew better than to take his eyes off the trees and was about to reply when he heard another snap followed by an unmistakable twang.

"Get down!" Galahad shouted, dropping to the ground just in time to feel the air rush past his face. But Lorin was an old man and his reflexes hardly existed anymore; he had barely turned his head before the arrow lodged itself deep in his throat. His eyes rolled back, and a final futile hiss of breath passed through Lorin's lips before he fell to the ground, his blood only the first to be spilt that night.

From the ground, Galahad saw the kind man fall, "Damn it."

The old woman screamed in horror and grief, alerting and rousing the entire village. She ran to Lorin's side but it was far too late to offer comfort or support. Galahad grunted in anger and shot to his feet. Armed men were emerging from the trees now, smirking confidently. Some were strolling, as if choosing what to kill or destroy was their way of window shopping.

Screams came from everywhere and Galahad knew that the thieves were not only before him but all around the village. Women and children ran to find cover or shelter and he saw men picking up their farm tools to use as weapons. Most had no skill in battle, many had never wielded a blade, but they fought for their homes and were brave. Galahad saw their fearlessness and it fueled in him a new passion for battle. It was a passion he would be able to test out at once for he quickly found himself bombarded with enemies, all rushing forward to engage and kill him. Clearly he was the main target of their attack but he was ready for a fight.

The front men in the line did not stand a chance against his sudden rage, blood was spilled and limbs were hacked, but as the first of the thieves died more appeared and surrounded him, attacking one or two at a time. Galahad fought off each strike but killed few of them. There was simply too many and every time he moved to strike one down always a new man appeared just in time to deflect his killing blow, or his opponent simply moved from reach and another struck out. They were toying with him, knowing he would tire before them and could then be overtaken, and they were correct.

Meanwhile, inside the now late, Lorin's home, Lancelot's story was interrupted by the screams of terror coming from outside.

"So I pulled the swords … what was that?" Lancelot and Alex ran to the nearest window to peer outside and were both fuelled with emotion at the sight before them; Lancelot with rage, and Alex with fear. Men were emerging from the trees, lines upon lines of them, all with weapons and torches, clearly bent on destruction.

"Bastards, they followed us," Lancelot hissed, taking out his swords once more and stalking towards the door. Alex ran in front of him, his eyes terrified and voice panicked.

"You can't go out there; there's too many, they'll kill you," he exclaimed with certainty.

"They've tried that already and did not succeed, now move, unless you want to watch your village burn before you," Lancelot replied, pushing the boy out of the way.

"And when they kill you, who will save us then?" Alex asked, angry at the knight's arrogant behavior.

Lancelot actually stopped in his tracks and turned around, facing the boy and sizing him up, "Perhaps you will. How fast are you?"

"Average for my age," Alex replied honestly.

"And all the more faster when fear courses through you, I would guess," Lancelot said. He stared deep into the young man's eyes to convey how important his next words were, "You will run then, through the back way and into the forest. Do not let yourself be seen by the men attacking your village. When you think it's safe, find the road and follow it south. Five knights will eventually come past, tell them what is happening and bid them to make haste back here."

"But … but I cannot just leave my home and run," Alex protested; he did not want to fight, or know how, but fleeing seemed cowardly and wrong.

"There is little you can do here, my friends and I will protect all we can for you. This task is more important than any you would do here. But it is your choice, I cannot bend your will and I have no more time to convince you," Lancelot did not wait for the boy's reply. He turned and left the house, blades twirling and seeking out foes to destroy.

Alex stood for a moment, watching in disbelief as Lancelot left the somewhat safe home to engage in what appeared a hopeless battle. A scream came from outside and almost Alex ran towards it, but it was followed by a terrifying battle cry, clearly belonging to Lancelot and the young man was finally convinced that the knights would defend his home with all their strength, and better than he ever could. Taking a dark cloak from the closet, Alex slipped out through the back door, staying crouched and low to the ground. He did not see any more men passing through the trees and thought all the murderers must have now poured into his village, his home. A brief glimpse of flame caught his eye and a hint of smoke but he could not turn back now; he fled into the forest as fast as his legs would carry him. All his life he had longed to meet the legendary Arthur and now, as he ran, he wished nothing more than to encounter the brave knight, but it was no longer for the reason of boyish curiosity and wonder, it was for the survival of his home.

Lancelot trudged through the battle. His form was not perfect and his blows were not at full strength, but they remained deadly. One by one the outlaws charged him and one by one they died. He blocked an overhand strike with one sword as he impaled his opponent with the other, but as the man fell almost did Lancelot. His energy was failing him and breathing was becoming difficult, all due to the damn wound in his side. He breathed for a moment and steadied himself but his head shot up when a familiar battle cry caught his ears. Galahad was several houses away, parrying and slashing but taking down none of the men that had circled around him. His pace was intense, almost desperate. The younger knight knew he would be overtaken if he did not make a move quickly and kill at least a few of his attackers. What he needed was an opening to break through the tight circle, and luckily, Lancelot saw this as well.

An unsuspecting thief suddenly ran past Lancelot. The man was completely unaware of the knight, his focus was only on the young woman he chased, but he quickly noticed Lancelot when he grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him back. The man choked for a second, then recovered and faced him.

"What the hell …" the man began, immediately confused by the arrogant smirk on Lancelot's face.

"I'm sorry, but I need your help." Before the thief's confused look could deepen Lancelot ran him through with his sword, then he brought the impaled man with him several steps down the road, nearing Galahad's position. Lancelot's fiery eyes met the thief's dying ones as he took him again by the shirt collar, "Hope you have good balance."

Then Lancelot threw the man's body into the circle of men around Galahad. Three fell to the ground under the weight of the corpse and most of the others turned to see the cause. Galahad seized the offered opening and the man nearest him quickly lost his head. The next he sliced through the stomach. Then he spun to stop a blade from behind and exchanged blows for a moment before sliding his sword through another man's chest. When no more opponents rushed at him, he spun around to see a winded Lancelot had killed just as many of the murderers. They were clear of enemies for the moment but both could see the new lines of men forming to surge at them once more.

"We cannot win this fight," Galahad said. No fear was etched in his voice, he stated only what was obvious.

Lancelot smiled, not caring, "That's never stopped us before."

Galahad returned his grin and they both lifted their swords high and ran forward to meet their enemy.

Both knights fought with all their strength and courage, but Galahad had been right, it was a fight they could not win. Again the mercenaries used their strategy of wearing down the knights until they could no longer hold off an assault, only now they made sure both knights were kept separated and occupied.

Galahad eventually fell to the overpowering odds. Though several bodies lay at his feet, his strength eventually began to wane and as he blocked a stroke of a sword from the front, from behind two men tackled him savagely to the ground. He held on to his weapon and tried to rise but the two bodies on top of him pinned him and the men around him began to pummel him as his sword was kicked from his hand. Defense was impossible, almost so was breathing as boots and sword hilts struck him in the head, back and chest, so Galahad resigned himself to saying his prayers and good-byes in his own mind, knowing the end would not be far.

If at full form Lancelot may have overcome the great assault against him. His twin swords allowed him twice the defense and a great number of bodies littered the ground around him, but he could not deny the weariness seeping into his bones. The arrow wound he had suffered had not killed him immediately, but the after effects of the following blood loss and fever could very well be his end. As he laid an almost weak strike against another's sword he did not notice as he left his midsection open for assault. Surprisingly, it was not a blade but a fist that found its mark in his stomach, directly over his healing wound. Immediately the air left his lungs and his knees buckled. Before he could regain his senses, strong hands and arms were pushing him down, forcing his defeat. Boots found his ribs and back, hands struck his face, and fingers tried to pry away his swords from his unyielding grasp. Eventually pain overwhelmed him, his hands lost their grip, and unconsciousness, and probably death, were only a few more blows away.

Suddenly the hands and feet attacking both knights stopped and their blurry minds could vaguely hear the voice of their salvation.

"I said keep them alive you idiots! If you've killed another one of these knights I swear it will not be long until you join them!"

Eviran stomped towards the first circle of men around Galahad. His strong frame allowed him to easily push the men away, knocking some to the ground. Galahad lay almost motionless and Eviran kicked him to ensure he was still alive. When Galahad coughed and weakly rolled over the mercenary leader's lips curled in a twisted form of a smile.

"Good, tie him up," Eviran said, moving on to Lancelot as Galahad's arms were wrenched behind his back and tightly secured.

Since the assault had paused Lancelot had managed to roll onto his stomach and with great effort had pushed himself to all fours. Eviran approached and sneered at his persistence.

"Valiant fool," Eviran chuckled and pulled back his foot to strike again. But Lancelot refused to fall and when the blow came near he grabbed the leader's foot and twisted the ankle harshly, knocking the big man to the ground. Unfortunately Lancelot had no more energy to continue the assault and after grunting in surprise, Eviran kicked him viciously in the side of the head from his place on the ground. Lancelot fell to his back, his vision fading in and out but not disappearing.

Eviran stormed to his feet and slammed his boot into Lancelot's ribcage. If the knight had been capable of coherent thought he would have known a rib had been cracked but in his state he merely rolled with the kick and gasped for air.

"Stupid bastard, string him up, over there!" Eviran ordered. Men scrambled to fill his request, eager to see what their vengeful leader would do to the knight. Lancelot was hauled to his feet and dragged; he was more upset that he could no longer hold himself up than he was worried about his punishment. The men led him to a metal pole in the village square, made to hold torches to light the dark street.

Lancelot's wrists were tied together in front of him and the rest of the rope was thrown over the metal branch of the pole and secured tightly. Eventually Lancelot was hanging from his wrists, toes only barely touching the ground so his feet could take none of the pressure off his arms. He made no sounds of discomfort but he hurt all over and wondered where unconsciousness was hiding itself.

"Now you'll learn what pain really is," one thief whispered to him gleefully as he secured his arms.

"If it's not the stench of your breath I don't know what it may be," Lancelot replied smoothly. The man dared not strike him without Eviran's permission so instead he viciously pulled the ropes tighter around the knight's now bloody wrists.

"Thanks," Lancelot mumbled sarcastically, his fingers already going numb.

Eviran walked at the head of a group of men and moved to stand in front of Lancelot. The knight knew he was not an impressive sight; he was bloodied and bruised and breathing was becoming difficult but that did not mean he would bow his head in defeat to this tyrant.

Just then, two smiling, blood soaked thieves intercepted Eviran before he reached the knight.

"Round up's done. Hardly anyone made it out to the woods; they won't survive long anyway if they did. Most of the men are dead and the women are all being put in that farm house," the man explained, pointing down the road.

"Good, I'll be there later," Eviran said. He was the only man of any power in their group of thieves which meant he had first pick of women and treasure, but after he made his choice the others could do what they liked with all that was left. But Eviran had enjoyed women and riches every night for the past few months and he did not hurry to the farm house to seek pleasures of the flesh; tonight was his night for revenge.

"So these are the mighty sarmation knights we are supposed to fear so badly. You're not that impressive to me," Eviran noted, sizing Lancelot up and making his men laugh. "Not very bright either I'd say, fighting for a lost cause; I suppose you can teach a dog to fight but you can't make it any smarter. Guess that's why there's so few of them left."

Lancelot gritted his teeth and then changed to a mocking smile, "Speaking of which, your own numbers are looking slightly thin; shouldn't you have some more men?"

Fire ignited in Eviran's eyes at the mention of the losses he had suffered from Arthur and the others in battle. Moving swiftly he struck two satisfying blows to Lancelot's face and then a third to his midsection.

The strikes to his head barely phased him but the blow so close to his now open injury caused new levels of pain in Lancelot; his entire body tensed and he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out. Eviran noticed this and lifted up the edge of his tunic curiously.

The big man chuckled, "That's a nasty arrow wound you have there; it must cause you all sorts of pain." Still laughing, he dug his thumb into the gaping hole in the knight's side, pulling at still healing flesh, and relished in the screams of pain to come. But there would be no screams from Lancelot.

Though his head was thrown back and he nearly bit through his lip, no sound escaped the knight's mouth except for a throaty hiss and his deep, labored attempts at breathing. Eviran's anger intensified when Lancelot refused to submit and he pushed deeper into the wound but still the knight would not scream.

Just a few yards away Galahad had been dragged to his feet as well and was being pulled towards his comrade and the mercenary leader. Though his strength was lessened and his body was bruised and bloodied, it was not broken and when the haze of pain lifted from his mind the first thing he took sight of was Lancelot holding back a scream of pain at Eviran's hands. As always with Galahad his first reaction was anger, and with it came a rush of adrenaline that fuelled him. He surprised the two men holding him up when he shouldered his way free and then kneed the first in the stomach and head butted the second. Both went down and he attempted to charge towards Lancelot and Eviran, planning on snapping the big man's neck, but had barely made it a step before four more men were on top of him, striking and subduing him. He went down once more, but with a fight, shouting and kicking at those attacking him.

This drew the attention of most of the men and even Eviran turned from his victim to see what was happening and shouted at his men to get Galahad under control.

"You worthless scum, can you not even hold a man down? Tie his feet if you have to," he suggested.

Lancelot collapsed at first and took the opportunity to take in several deep breaths but did not take too long a respite. He knew he could not allow Galahad to draw the attention of all these men to himself, for it would surely mean the young man's death, or at the very least serious injury which wouldn't do either of them any good. Eviran and another man stood in front of Lancelot, watching the group of thieves try and subdue the enraged Galahad. With a quick breath, and an idle thought wondering how they always got into these situations, Lancelot took a strong grip on the rope holding him up, lifted his feet in the air and wrapped them around the neck of the man in front of him.

The thief did not get the chance to yell out or make any sound at all before Lancelot snapped his neck; it was only the sudden movement and the sound of bones cracking that caused Eviran to turn around swiftly. Wasting no time, Lancelot released the dead man and just as quickly ensnared the mercenary leader. Eviran brought his hands up swiftly and managed to keep the strong legs from breaking his spine, but he could not escape the knight's strong grasp and no air reached his lungs.

Lancelot gritted his teeth in satisfied determination as he tried to gain more leverage so he could snap the man's neck. Unfortunately his actions had not gone unnoticed by all and before Eviran had run out of air strong fists descended on the knight. Some hit his back, others his face but still he did not release his hold on the evil tyrant; it took three men to pry each leg away and only then did Eviran escape his grasp.

The blows stopped as the men waited to see if Eviran was all right, and if he was, what was to be done with the knights. It took the big man a moment to catch his breath and Lancelot looked to Galahad; his feet were now bound as well as his arms, his face and body bruised. His eyes still burned with fire but there was little energy left in him to fight as he lay forced on his stomach as two men pushed their knees into his back to keep him still. Though his vision was hazy he had no choice but to look at his fellow knight and when their eyes met Lancelot shook his head, clearly telling Galahad not to fight anymore. The younger knight's brow furrowed in confusion and defiance, for he could not stand by idly as his comrade suffered, but Lancelot shook his head again only now an arrogant smirk touched his features, as if he was enjoying the situation or winning some sort of battle.

The smirk quickly vanished though as a fist struck his jaw, snapping back his head.

"You stupid bastard! Who do you think you are? You are beaten, accept it! You are fallen!" Eviran shouted, taking hold of Lancelot's hair to look into the knight's eyes as he spoke. Anger could almost be seen radiating off him in waves as he struck the knight again.

Lancelot pulled his head back before he could register the pain and hissed out, "No."

Eviran actually halted, his dark eyes amazed to have heard such defiance as never reached his ears. Lancelot noted his surprise, and first spitting blood from his mouth continued, "Destroy my body all you like, but I will not be defeated, especially not by an ignorant savage that ..."

Another blow kept him from finishing but Eviran was so taken back by this insolence to his power that his reply seemed weak and desperate, "You talk too much, you feeble excuse for a warrior."

He took a moment to breathe and in this time his anger changed from a sudden lightning strike to the beginnings of fire that emerge afterwards, starting as a simmer and eventually consuming and destroying everything.

"Do you want us to tie his legs too?" asked a man to Lancelot's right, holding out a piece of rope at the ready.

Eviran spotted a shovel on the nearby ground and picked it up, testing its weight. Hefting it up and smiling he said, "That won't be necessary."

With a calculated step forward he slammed the handle end of the shovel into the knight's torso, stealing away any thoughts he had of breathing for the next few minutes.

"Hold his leg," Eviran ordered to a man behind Lancelot. Smiling in anticipation the man knelt down and took a strong hold of the knight's right ankle. Lancelot did not try to kick him away for the grip on his leg seemed most insignificant compared to his extreme need for oxygen at the time. Because of his sole focus on obtaining air, he did not see Eviran turn the shovel so he held the handle firmly, did not notice the men backing away from him, did not hear Galahad's cry of warning and did not sense the rush of air as Eviran pulled back the instrument. All he felt was the shocking, stabbing strike of pain that erupted from his leg and this he felt acutely, in all its unforgiving fury. The feel of the sharpened edge slicing through the flesh of his ankle was clear, the force of the blow ricocheting through his body was horrible, and the sound of the bone beneath snapping was hideous. Suddenly there was air in Lancelot's lungs but it was quickly gone as he could not hold back a scream at this unexpected attack.

The scream was short as Lancelot forced it to be cut off as soon as it reached his own ears and instead he gripped tightly the ropes suspending him from the pole and concentrated on breathing and staying conscious. Galahad was cursing profusely somewhere in the distance, cursing the thieves to hell for their dishonor and so forth, and he focused on the younger man's voice, using it to stay rooted in reality.

"There, that should make you behave for the time being," Eviran seemed proud but did not relish in it for long; just as quickly as it had come his smile vanished and he was deathly serious once more. With one hand he took a hold of the knight's chin so he may meet his eye and with the other he hefted up the shovel once more, clearly in warning, "now though I begin to tire of you and your petty crimes against me, so I'll ask you this once and you will answer me now – where is Arthur?"

Lancelot gritted his teeth and tried to breathe, Gods that had hurt like nothing else. He would not be able to walk, even if they did somehow get free, but that possibility was not looking good. Concentrating on the present though, he continued his defiance of Eviran when he replied, "Never heard of him."

Eviran's grip on his jaw tightened, "Do not play games with me! Your captain, where is he?"

"Have you checked up your …" again Eviran's fists struck flesh, cutting the knight's reply short. The shovel was hefted once more but Lancelot's body was spared from further punishment as a voice came from behind.

"The Wall! He's heading back to the Wall!"

Eviran turned sharply looking almost surprised as his eye fell on Galahad, as though he had forgotten the younger knight was there.

"The Wall? And why is he going there?" Eviran asked, taking a step towards him.

Behind him Lancelot appeared to tremble with rage at this outburst and fought against his bonds as he yelled, "Shut up you traitorous filth, do not say another word!"

He was struck hard in the stomach for this and Galahad flinched noticeably for him. Eviran stepped closer again and kicked Galahad in the side for not yet answering him.

_Think fast Galahad_, he urged himself as he rolled with the blow. "He went ahead with the others to report your annihilation to our superiors; we thought we killed you all, accommodations would have been in order."

"So he went to claim the glory while you were forced to stop here with your injured burden," Eviran surmised, pointing to Lancelot. Galahad nodded from the ground, appearing broken and defeated but inside he was smiling. _Fool believes me._

"Then I guess I have no reason to keep you alive at all," Eviran added, pulling out his sword and lifting it above his head.

This time Galahad's fear was real and his mind scraped for a life saving lie as the blade began to descend towards him, "Four days!"

Eviran halted, his sword an inch from the knight's throat, and quirked an eyebrow as if waiting for more.

"Four days, he said he would be back in four days if the three of us hadn't returned by then," Galahad rushed out, his eyes firmly fixed on the blade hovering over him. Eviran seemed to be considering the words and weighing their truth.

"You worthless rat, I'll have your head after I cut out your betraying tongue!" Lancelot once again exclaimed his anger. "Arthur gives you his trust and this is how you repay him you coward?!"

Eviran turned at this and saw Lancelot shook with honest anger, that he did not know was really aimed towards himself, and smiled, feeling victorious with this new information. Then his look became mocking as he leaned over the younger knight, "Three? I think you mean two, don't you? My men got a bit, ahead of themselves." A path formed in the group of thieves and a man in the back kicked an object forward. All eyes were fixed on it as it rolled towards them, and Lancelot and Galahad fought against their restraints once more, screaming in fury as the head of Narian slowed to a stop in front of them.

"Bastard," Lancelot hissed, as Galahad seethed silently in his own mind.

"I know. Well, it looks like we're staying a few days boys, let's settle in," Eviran chuckled as he looked at the still seething Lancelot and then changed his course to the tavern down the road. "First we can find out if this town has anything worth drinking."

The men holding down Galahad wished to follow as well so Eviran ordered, "Tie that one up with him, and you two, watch them."

"What? They're tied up, they're not goin' to do nothin'," exclaimed one of the men Eviran had ordered.

The mercenary leader grabbed the man tightly by the collar, "You'll do it because I said so, so no drinking. You watch them, and if they get away you'll be hunting them down yourself, without the benefit of all your limbs. Understand?"

He threw the man to the ground, who got up swiftly, nodding, "Yeah, we got it."

Galahad was dragged forward and thrown to the ground by the pole Lancelot hung from. After a few more kicks to keep him subdued, the men cut his arms free and then retied them around the pole. He was left sitting on the ground and no sooner had the men backed away then another kick struck him in the temple, this one from Lancelot.

"You villainous little worm, Arthur will walk right into their hands! You'll burn in hell for this!" Lancelot hissed, ensuring his words were laced with real hatred.

Galahad pulled away to the other side of the pole, out of Lancelot's limited reach and muttered, "Last time I try and save your life."

The men watching over them chuckled, as did the few that had yet to leave to find some other form of entertainment. Lancelot kept up the verbal abuse for a few minutes more for believability's sake, but soon exhausted himself. The lie had been well portrayed by Galahad and himself, both in timing and words, and he was thankful to the younger knight for his aid. But for now, he hung limply, Galahad beside him, trying in vain not to let his gaze wander to the decapitated head of Narian only four feet away. He and Galahad hadn't mentioned the other knight during the fight in hopes that their friend had escaped, and they did not wish to risk his discovery, but clearly their hopes were useless, for Narian had fallen early under the surprise assault by the mercenaries and now they could only pray for his soul.

When some time had passed and the thieves all became occupied, including their guards who sat across the street deep in conversation, the knights spoke.

"That was fast thinking, they won't be expecting an attack now when Arthur returns tomorrow, and from the south at that," Lancelot said, his face down so as not to draw attention and his voice only loud enough for Galahad to hear.

"Thanks, I'm told I work well under pressure," Galahad replied, trying to put on a lighthearted smirk. "By the way, you're an idiot."

"Yes, the physical torture wasn't nearly enough, please, feel free to abuse me verbally as well," Lancelot said sarcastically, not really feeling up to talking at the moment.

"I gave you an opportunity to be ignored and recover but instead you immediately drew the wrath of these men even more. It was stupid."

Lancelot shook his head ruefully, "How are you?" he asked strangely, with no hint of concern.

"I should be asking you that," Galahad sighed.

"How are you?" Lancelot repeated more forcefully. "Can you walk, run, could you fight if needed?"

Galahad considered it, he was bruised badly, and bleeding but there was nothing broken – with rest he could fight fairly well.

"Yes I can fight," Galahad answered.

"Well I can't which is obvious, so if we want to have any hope of getting out of here alive one of us is going to have to be in fighting form. So unfortunately, that means you," Lancelot explained, seemingly impatient but mostly just frustrated by the situation. "So, if _me_ getting a few more bruises will help _us_ get out of here, I gladly accept."

Galahad nodded in understanding; it was true, Lancelot would not be able to fight if freed, he probably couldn't even walk Galahad realized as he took a closer look at the shattered ankle; the cut was deep and bleeding and the bone underneath undoubtedly broken. Lancelot was strung up high enough that his feet just barely touched the ground, but even so the knight was keeping all his weight on the left, the right was kept in the air.

"How well are you tied?" Lancelot asked after a pause. Galahad pulled at the ropes; no give.

"Quite well actually," he replied. Lancelot nodded and looked around, as if an escape plan would simply present itself if he looked hard enough. He tugged at his own ropes vainly which simultaneously put pressure on his shattered ankle and pulled on his injured side; his eyes closed for a moment as he tried to breathe through the pain and nausea this caused.

Galahad flinched and though he knew Lancelot would not want to answer him, asked, "Are you going to be all right?"

"I'm fine," he replied through clenched teeth.

Galahad scoffed, "Last time you told me that I struck you for lying."

"Well then, it's a good thing I'm telling the truth," Lancelot smiled arrogantly but his eyes showed no joy. Both knew he was lying, he was far from well, he could not walk, had lost more blood than ever, and just then he coughed rather weakly as a chill passed through him from being exposed to the cold night air.

On the ground, Galahad said nothing and stared forlornly into the distance for long minutes pondering what their fate may be; would Arthur arrive shortly? Did these men intend to kill them? Was escape possible? All this he wondered but few answers came forth. Then suddenly his heart sank even lower at the sight before him and he prayed more would not come, but they came. Sighing, he looked up in disbelief as another raindrop fell, this one striking his cheek. Many more soon followed, falling faster and harder. _You have to be kidding me_, he thought disgustedly towards nature.

"I suppose saying things couldn't get any worse would just jinx us, right?" Galahad asked ruefully, looking up at Lancelot. But Lancelot gave no reply; he hung unconscious from his bonds, oblivious to all, with pure rain running over him and then falling red at his feet.

"Yes, you're fine," Galahad sighed and tilted his head back, as always accepting the rain and hoping things would be better come dawn.

TBC

Hmmm, perhaps they should get rescued. Then again, maybe not, peril looks good on these two. But I suppose you'll all be wanting to see Arthur and Tristan and them again? Fine, they'll be here next time. Hope you all enjoyed that though, it was very fun to write. Anyway, to those fabulous enough to review:

Evellon – wow, that had to be THE most creative review I've gotten, perhaps ever. At first I honestly thought it was some weird type of email, but it was most delightful and kind of desperate sounding, which made me smile. Quirky I would call it.

Yavanna – You were right about the fight starting, good call. There's only a little Alex in this chap but his portion of the story is not over.

Trinity Day – I know how it is to find a new chapter and review before you read it, or are coherent, so that's totally fine.

PadawanMage – Well really, if I didn't have cliffhangers, would you be coming back for more? Honestly?

Camlann – Oh, you said such nice things and then I went and killed the character you liked. I'm sorry. Thank you so much for your kind words, it feels weird to be the one that gets people into fanfiction, but I guess someone has to. Hope you stick around without Narian.

Elessar King – Man, everyone loved that line. If you're waiting for Tristan he's in the next chapter but that definitely won't be out until after Thanksgiving (Canadian)

Holliday1081 – What an insightful review, thank you for putting so much into it. Those were all my favorite parts too, what you pointed out. Your review especially sped this chapter along, so thank you again.

Jemiul – Romance? No, nothing like that, just friendship for me. Arthur will arrive eventually, whether he will be in time only time can tell. Or me, but I'm not telling so you'll have to wait for time.

Shauna – Wow, talk about being on the ball with the predictions, good call. Reading in class huh? I do that sometimes, but usually when I check my fave stories there's no update, but just in case there is, you really must read mustn't you? Hope this came out quick enough, thanks for the lengthy review, especially during school.

Templa Otmena – You review everything so closely it is really helpful, I'm glad you enjoyed the scene transitions, it's good for a writer to know what works as much as to know what doesn't so I'll probably keep using those. I'm glad everyone likes Alex, he's been … interesting to write.

Ashley A – such high praise from someone that has given so much to this fandom, thank you. I pride myself for action and I'm glad you're enjoying it.

And if I forgot you I'm sorry, I'm trying to post this before I leave for home for Thanksgiving weekend where I will have no internet. Anyway, don't know when the next chap will be but it will have Arthur, Tristan and the others as well as probably some more Lance and Gala angst, cause I'm enjoying it. Anyway, later, Goody.


	7. Betting and Fighting

My goodness, this has taken a long time hasn't it? Well what can you do, if the muse doesn't strike you can't make it, but I have finally gotten the next chapter done though when the next arrives I will not make any promises. Hope you're still enjoying,

Fields of Battle

By Goody

He was cold.

Alex had no clue where he was, how much time had passed, or even what day it was, but he knew he was cold. The rain had stopped nearly an hour ago and the first rays of sunlight began to peak through the treetops, but he was still soaked from the downpour. A shiver passed through him and he pulled the damp cloak around him tighter as he shook off the remnants of a strained sleep. It was not hard to regain awareness as he remembered the danger around and behind him; the mercenaries, the knights, his home, it all came back to him in a flood.

Sitting up suddenly he looked around the forest but saw no one nearby and heard no sounds to indicate other human life. He sighed, relieved he had clearly made it far enough away from the village to avoid detection, his relief was short lived though as he remembered the task he had been appointed.

"Arthur. I have to find the road," Alex whispered to himself, despising the silence and solitude he found himself in. In the black of night had had known he would have no hope of finding the road and escaping the ruthless men invading his village, so he had just run, but now that it was day and he could see he needed to find the road and quickly; Arthur could come at any time. He prayed he had not missed him.

"So, I ran for … seemed like hours. No, it couldn't have been more than two. So, I'm almost to the river which means the road would have turned a mile ago and I need to head … south!" He smiled with his revelation, checked the sun's position to find south, and then began to run. His pace was frenzied as he was constantly looking over his shoulder for signs of danger and trying to watch ahead for the road. All sounds sent him into a near panic and a half an hour later he finally stumbled onto the road. He had been running so hard that he had to pull himself to a sudden stop as it appeared before him and he stared at it in disbelief as if it were some strange, foreign object.

"I made it," he thought, "but what if Arthur has already passed? He would head straight to Omiscrus unprepared, or pass it completely. Does he even know his knights stopped there?"

These were questions Alex did not know the answer to. There were no hoof prints in the mud but the rain could have easily washed them away if they had been there. Deciding there was nothing he could do either way he settled on the ground beside the road and waited. Time passed, with each sound causing him to jerk in surprise, but finally, after nearly an hour of terrified waiting, it seemed Arthur had arrived. The ground began to tremor slightly and Alex could hear the sound of several horses being driven fiercely towards him. As his hope was ignited his first instinct was to run into the road to flag them down, but then his fear surfaced once more and he was plagued with doubts. How was he sure the men who rode towards him were even Arthur and his knights? What if it was more of the mercenaries, lagging behind?

Alex thought he could wait in hiding until he could see clearly if it was Arthur, but if he waited until they went by he had little hope of getting their attention, for it was obvious by the sound of the hoofbeats that they were traveling at an incredible gallop. The horses came closer and still he was conflicted. When at last the sound of their gallop seemed to be right beside him he made his choice and he ran into the road just as the first head of a rider came into view.

"Stop!" he shouted.

If it had been anyone other than the knights he would have been trampled on the spot, but the knights' horses were well trained and responded quickly when their riders pulled back on their reins to halt them. Alex cringed and covered his head with his arms, sure his impulsiveness would get him squashed. But when he heard a disgruntled whinnying he looked up into the face of a great black horse, which had stopped mere inches before him.

"Get out of the way boy, we're in a hurry," a voice said from above, firm but not unkind. Alex's gaze strayed upwards and he knew he was looking upon the mighty Arthur. The sun shone on his back, and Alex was amazed by the confidence he bore, the strength and pride in his square shoulders, the cold passion in his eyes, and the Roman garb; he cared not that his hero had nearly trampled him. His eyes glazed over for a moment with wonder and he could not speak.

"We don't have time for this," Gawain commented, twitching in his seat with eagerness to reach Omiscrus. These words shook Alex out of his daze and he spoke again.

"No, I need your help."

"We've troubles of our own," Bors mumbled showing little concern for the boy. Arthur nodded in agreement as he looked ahead and seemed about to order them to continue on. Alex noticed this and knew he had to keep their attention.

"Lancelot sent me!" he shouted, immediately drawing the eye of each of the knights. The others exchanged hopeful and curious glances as Arthur dismounted to meet the boy's eye.

"You have spoken to Lancelot? When? Where?" Arthur demanded, taking the boy by the shoulders.

"It was early yesterday morning when we first met, I am Omiscrus's healer," Alex started to explain and was interrupted by Tristan.

"You're a healer?" the knight asked skeptically, sizing him up.

Alex shrugged, "Healer's apprentice. Anyway, your friends arrived yesterday morning and I was charged with his care."

"How does he fare?" Arthur asked not attempting to hide his desperation.

"He was well when last I saw him, but I cannot vouch for what state you may find him in. In the night thieves attacked my village. Lancelot rushed out to defend my home, I meant to go with him but he said finding and warning you was a much more important task and … I ran." Alex hid his eyes, ashamed to have admitted such a thing to the great Arthur.

But the Roman captain touched his shoulder, drawing his gaze once more and looked at him with intense approval, "You survived, it's all I ask of even my own knights."

Alex smiled genuinely but his moment was interrupted by Gawain, "What of Galahad and Narian?"

"I do not know. They were watching the road when the men attacked, I could not tell you what happened. But the thieves seemed swift and organized, their numbers great," Alex replied.

"Too many for our friends to overcome?" Arthur asked.

Alex nodded, "Yes, unless they are Gods in disguise."

"They aren't, though Lancelot would tell you otherwise," Arthur replied, deep in thought.

"Do you know how far we are from Omiscrus, exactly?" Tristan asked.

Alex was unsure himself, he had been so lost in the dark forest, "Um, when did you pass the river?"

"About four miles back," Dagonet said.

"Then you have about three miles left on this road," Alex said and then after a pause added more quietly, "Do you have any water?"

Arthur seemed to look at him more closely, noting the exhaustion in the boy's stance and eyes. He clapped him on the shoulder and threw him his own flask, which Alex drank greedily.

"So we're almost there, but if the thieves' numbers are so great we will have little chance of rescuing our comrades," Arthur noted.

"If they even remain alive to be rescued," Gawain noted drearily, his mind seemingly lost in dread. Bors laid a supportive hand on his shoulder but it did not change his mood.

"We'll find them Gawain. Alive," Arthur insisted.

Tristan turned to Alex, a thought clearly on his mind, "These thieves, how did they appear in dress and manner?"

Alex looked at the ragged men around him, unwashed, well built, and stern. He shrugged, "Like most of you."

Tristan nodded, just as he thought.

"You want to infiltrate," Arthur stated. He did not need to ask, he could read the intentions of his scout easily.

Tristan shrugged, "It's the best way to find out what we need to know. If there's as many as the boy says we can't overtake them, even if surprise is on our side, we'll need a plan."

"They could be waiting for us," Dagonet pointed out.

"I'll just have to be careful then, won't I?" Tristan smirked.

"It's dangerous," Arthur mumbled to himself.

"I'll go with him," Gawain offered swiftly, taking any opportunity he could to get into the village faster and discover the fate of their friends.

Arthur seemed skeptical.

"I can watch his back, and two of us would draw less attention than just one of us wandering," Gawain pointed out.

Arthur looked to Tristan, who nodded his consent, and then agreed, "Fine, you may go with him. We'll travel another mile up the road and then you two can do reconnaissance and report back."

Tristan accepted this with his usual somber attitude and Gawain smiled in relief. As Arthur mounted his horse once more his gaze fell on Alex, who had become quiet as the knights talked amongst themselves.

Arthur held a hand out to the boy, "Come on, we'll take you with us. You may yet do even more good on this journey."

Alex smiled and took the knight's hand and was pulled onto the saddle behind Arthur.

"Just tell me what to do," Alex said eagerly.

Arthur looked at him curiously and asked, "What's your name, boy?"

"Alex."

Arthur extended his arm once more, this time to shake his hand, "Arthur." He said as Alex took his hand in a firm shake.

"I know."

The moment ended quickly as the grievous task at hand was recalled. Looking to his knights, Arthur then stared straight ahead, focused, "Let's ride."

The knights had no argument and the heavy hoofbeats started up once more as they continued on their way, this time with one extra passenger riding in front.

* * *

Lancelot awoke to soreness and pain. Opening his eyes slowly he saw the sun was risen and several hours had passed at least. His head throbbed, as did the rest of his body. He tried to push himself around to see behind him but this put pressure on his injured leg and he hissed as the new pain came, awakening him fully. Looking to his left and right he saw most of the men were passed out from drunkenness, though a few still roved through the streets, swigging back ale and laughing. Looking down he saw Galahad sitting on the ground. At first glance he appeared to be resting but when he heard Lancelot stirring the younger knight's gaze shifted upwards and his eyes showed no weariness. Galahad had not slept, but stayed awake all night on watch for them both.

"Morning."

Lancelot shivered, his body chilled from the now cooling rain that had fallen. Looking about him again, he sighed, "Damn, it wasn't a dream."

Galahad snorted, "I hope you tend to dream of better things than this."

But Lancelot's eyes showed no mirth as he surveyed the horizon and answered somberly, "Not usually."

Galahad lowered his own haunted eyes, "Neither do I."

"What have I missed?" Lancelot asked. They spoke quietly to not draw attention to themselves.

"Not a great deal. The men got drunk, the women were defiled, I am no further in loosening these ropes than I was, and like every other night the sun eventually rose," Galahad replied.

Lancelot pulled at his own bonds, ignoring the pain it caused in his arms, "So nothing important."

"No. When do you think Arthur will arrive?" Galahad asked, his voice even quieter.

Lancelot shook his head, "I don't know, it could be any time. It depends on how far south they traveled and the speed they take returning. I sent the boy … Alex, to warn them, I don't know if he made it."

Galahad bit his lip in anger, clearly frustrated beyond all belief, "Then what are we supposed to do?"

"Unfortunately, we must wait," Lancelot replied.

Galahad angrily banged his head on the post behind him, "All I've done is wait."

Several houses down Lancelot could see a group of men had formed around two others that were arguing, clearly drunk and violent. He kicked Galahad with his good foot and drew his attention to the scene.

"Bet you a round of ale that the big one wins," Lancelot said, smirking.

Galahad first looked to the sky in disbelief, but then seeing that Lancelot was serious, he turned to the fight. Though the first man had the size advantage he was also clearly drunker than the second, which Galahad thought might give the smaller a chance.

"You're on," Galahad said, also ghosting a smile. With the bet made they watched the two drunken thieves begin to brawl. The fight became quite intense, with blows traded over and over, and each time the opponents took longer to rise but would not quit. The crowd followed the two that were fighting as they traveled down the street, throwing each other into walls and kicking them along the ground. The fight was so intense that it eventually came close to the two knights, who were still watching intently to find out the winner. The two men were at the top of the stairs of a nearby home and when they stumbled down they landed directly in front of the knights.

Lancelot cringed as the first man was knocked to the ground by a strong uppercut. The man was slow to rise and fearing that he may lose his bet, Lancelot called out helpfully, "There's a large stick behind you that may be of some use!"

The man looked at him skeptically, but Lancelot indicated he should turn around and sure enough a large wooden plank was behind him. The man grinned and picked it up, striking the second man hard in the stomach. His opponent fell to one knee but still the drunken brawl did not end.

"That was cheating," Galahad complained.

"Oh please, don't imply there are rules," Lancelot rolled his eyes.

"In that case …" Now lost in the contest Galahad smirked as he stretched out his legs suddenly, tripping the first man and causing him to fall on his back.

When the first man sat up his angered gaze no longer went to his opponent but to Galahad, the same could be said for the second who glared at Lancelot as he recovered. The first man stood up, never breaking eye contact with the young knight, and Galahad rose as well, able to stand at full height though his arms were restrained.

Lancelot sighed, not in the mood for such shows of bravado. "Um, excuse me, do you think you could beat _him_ up a bit more?" he asked the large man, indicating his previous opponent. "I have a rather large amount of ale wagered on this fight."

"You should shut your mouth Sarmation trash!" the second man bellowed, backhanding him hard across the face. Lancelot made no sound as his head was thrown back but he met the man's eyes and the fire and intensity reflected in his stare was enough to make the man back down and instead watch the interaction between Galahad and his former opponent.

"If you want a real fight then untie me," Galahad demanded, still refusing to look away from the man's gaze. The man sneered and straight punched the knight hard in the face, causing his head to ricochet and slam against the pole behind him as well. The blow disoriented him and Galahad fell to one knee.

"I wouldn't waste my time," the man chuckled.

"It's a good thing you're so busy then because he would absolutely destroy you in a fight. You wouldn't even recognize your own face afterwards, guaranteed," Lancelot gloated on Galahad's behalf.

"Is that so?" the man asked with a sneer, taking a step closer to look Galahad over and not finding him that impressive. That is until the young knight suddenly sprang back to his feet and viciously head-butted the man, sending him to the ground. The power of the hit, and the addition of the other blows he had received in his drunken brawl, had the desired effect and the man was thoroughly unconscious.

"I told him," Lancelot muttered as he narrowed his eyes and waited for the expected retaliation from the thieves.

But most of the men, still in good humor from the alcohol, laughed hysterically, enjoying the irony in the small, tied up knight taking down the larger man. Only the large man's best friend took real offence as he lunged from the circle of onlookers and tried to get to Galahad, arms outstretched.

"You little bastard …"

Galahad was ready to bring up a foot to kick him away but the man was intercepted by two others, who held him back.

"Come on Avrer, if you want to fight him then let's do as he said and untie him, have a real match," one of his restrainers suggested.

Galahad's eyes widened as his heart skipped a beat at the prospect of being cut free.

The man, Avrer, looked the knight over; he was small and looked tired and bruised.

"Sure, cut him loose, I'll take care of him," he said arrogantly.

Galahad smiled openly, muscles twitching for action. His body was bruised beyond belief but nothing was broken and though his muscles were stiff a fight would loosen them easily; essentially, this would be fun. Another man approached with a knife and moved behind the pole to free him.

Escape was the first thing on Galahad's mind but looking around he knew his chances weren't good. There were a dozen armed men watching the brawl, and though they were stupid enough to free him he doubted they would give him a weapon of any kind. Even if he could get away, he could not leave Lancelot behind in the hands of these murderers, he would never forgive himself. So as the ropes holding him were cut away, his main concern was winning and surviving this fight while watching for opportunities of escape but taking no unnecessary chances.

"You're dead Sarmation scum," Avrer gloated as he took a step closer, stance wide and shoulders squared.

Galahad stood for a moment, rubbing his wrists and looking over the crowd, then appraised his opponent and seemed not impressed.

"Do you remember what my friend here said earlier?" the man nodded, "Well, I'm afraid he lied."

Avrer smirked and grew cockier but became more somber as Galahad continued, "You see it's not that you won't recognize your own face, it's that you won't want to. Although why you would want to now even is beyond me …"

Galahad left the insult hanging and did not have to wait for a response as Avrer rushed at him in anger. The man was larger, stronger and broad shouldered but stupid. Galahad easily dodged the clumsy attempt at a tackle and struck the man hard in the ribcage as he passed by. It would have been easy to end the fight there with several more quick attacks, but Galahad needed to stretch his muscles and was in no way eager to be tied back up.

Avrer growled in anger as he recovered from the first hit and faced Galahad, murder in his eyes. Galahad baited him on until the man threw a punch and then a second which the knight dodged and then responded to with an uppercut to the jaw, sending the man reeling backwards. The only thing that kept him upright was the men watching that caught him and threw him back in.

"Come on, I was better off tied to the post," Galahad taunted, trying to get some real exercise out of the fight. All around him men were shouting encouragement or pain but he ignored their cries and focused on his opponent.

Avrer spit out blood and heaved as he vehemently replied, "I'll kill you, you little bastard and then I'll take your head for a trophy like we did with your friend."

It was Galahad's turn to respond with anger at the mention of Narian's death and he dove at the man, easily striking him across the jaw and falling with him to the ground where he struck him again and again. Avrer remained conscious and tried to fight back but Galahad was vicious until, when he exhausted his emotional violence, he looked up into the crowd and his eyes widened and he completely forgot about the man beneath him, the fight he was involved in or even the crowd watching him. His mouth parted slightly as if to speak but he was shocked, completely stunned by what he saw, and nothing came out until he cried out in pain as a very hard object struck him in the side of the head.

Now on all fours he looked up to see that Avrer had been handed the large chunk of wood while Galahad was distracted and struck him with it. He tried to block the next blow but it was stronger than he had expected and he was struck hard again, this time across the face. He fell to the ground, dazed and trying to move but not able to command his muscles to do so. Distantly he felt the stick come down one last time on his back and heard the men above him chuckling.

"That will teach you Sarmation trash your place," Avrer announced in victory as he staggered to his feet to stand above Galahad.

"Oh yes, you should be very proud, that was quite fair," Lancelot pointed out mockingly with clear disapproval of the man's tactics.

Avrer spared him a glance as he threw the weapon back on the ground and smirked, "Don't imply there are rules."

Lancelot could only glare at his retreating form and then watch as the very disoriented Galahad was dragged back to the post and tied in place once more. The younger knight's head cleared quickly, for it was known for its thickness, and the second the men were out of earshot he stood up again, eyes wide as he leaned close to Lancelot, urgency written all over his face.

"Lancelot look to your right," he demanded in a harsh whisper.

"I know," Lancelot replied, not lifting his gaze from its place on the ground.

"No, you have to look …"

"Tristan and Gawain are beside the tavern, I know. Unlike some people I'm trying not to draw attention to them by staring at them like they found the Holy Grail."

Galahad's gaze immediately moved to the other side of the street after the reprimand. Lancelot was right of course, clearly they were trying to blend in and his actions could get them caught, but he was so relieved to see them, alive and well and know rescue was on its way that he could barely contain himself.

Despite what he said, Lancelot did look at the two knights across the streets. He had spotted them just before the beginning of Galahad's bout and watched with fascination as the knights tried to appear interested in the contest without showing real concern for the combatants. Gawain had looked proud for a moment as Galahad fought off his opponent easily, but that look quickly changed as he and Tristan both paled as they heard Avrer mention Narian's death, something they had not known for sure.

When Galahad first saw the pair he had frozen and Lancelot was sure they would be found out, but instead Galahad was only beaten for his stupidity, which Lancelot thought he deserved in a way. He almost had to smile when he saw Tristan's hand on Gawain's arm, not subtle but necessary in order to hold the knight back from running to Galahad's aid.

Now they stood beside the tavern, talking quietly, looking serious, but holding a mug of ale each to blend in better; they even toasted a man as he walked by, stumbling drunk.

"Where do you think the others are?" Galahad asked, still making a concerted effort not to stare at their companions.

"Probably hidden in the woods, waiting for Tristan's report. How in the world Gawain scraped his way into coming is beyond me, he sticks out like a weed, I can't believe these men do not see it," Lancelot commented, shaking his head at Gawain's attempts at nonchalance when his body was clearly rigid with tension and his eyes screamed with anger and frustration.

"I'm sure he's doing his best," Galahad pointed out, tilting his head to the side to try to relieve the pain spiking through him from the last few blows.

"Does it hurt?" Lancelot asked.

Galahad rolled his eyes, "Of course it hurts."

"Good, you deserve it, getting distracted like that in the middle of a fight, great way to get killed," Lancelot admonished him and as much as he wanted to defend himself, Galahad had no excuse, he had been overcome by surprise, there was no denying it.

"Well next time I will try to live up to your high standards of fighting," Galahad said sarcastically, now casually watching Gawain and Tristan cross the road in front of them. For only the briefest moment, too brief, Galahad met Gawain's eye and in that moment they both smiled, feeling stronger, reassured. They were each the closest friend the other had in the group, much like Lancelot and Arthur, though they had not been friends for as long, and they took comfort in each other; seeing Gawain gave Galahad the hope he needed to believe they would survive this ordeal, which was a great gift for the both of them.

Still drawing no attention at all, the two crossed the street, entered a house and were gone from sight. They had not been able to speak to the knights or even show any kind of recognition but their presence alone had been comforting, although now both knights wondered if they had even been real or some strange dream, they came and went so quickly. Galahad sighed as they disappeared but Lancelot was for once reassuring.

"The next move is up to them, I'm sure they'll have a plan of some sort, something clever but not too complicated."

"Think it involves us living to see another dawn?" Galahad asked lightly.

Lancelot tried to shrug, "I would hope so but no guarantees."

Galahad sighed and sat back down on the ground, "There never are."

And so the two knights watched and waited for a rescue that they never doubted would come.

TBC

You know, I've got these wonderful, wonderful, reviewers, I better thank them.

Lancey – I could not deny you after that wonderful plea/review. Thanks for reading Painful Journeys though, and I never intended to leave this story unfinished, I was just going to wait until the got the DVD for Christmas to inspire me, but your review pressured me into forcing out this chapter, so all other reviewers, you have Lancey to thank for this chap!

Julia – No plans on stopping, probably will be a brief hiatus until after Christmas though.

Holliday1081 – For some reason I really love when people point out parts they especially liked, which is exactly what you do, and I love your reviews for it. Thank you so much, for all the nice words.

Templa Otmena – Yep, Alex is alive (as must be obvious) and will continue to have a part to play in rescuing our guys and saving his town. (BTW – your lost in the woods suggestion actually inspired how the chapter started off, so thanks) Sorry about Narian but those mercenaries are just jerks!

Padawanmage – I actually thought about it for a really long time and couldn't decide myself how Lancelot got his swords (well I thought of one really cool, realllllly long explanation that I won't get into) so I thought I'd purposely annoy everyone and skip the actual story. It might make a nice one-shot when this fic is all over though, you never know. Yes, I seem to have ruined shovels for everyone that read this. This cliffhanger isn't so bad but I hope you still keep coming back anyway.

Jemiul – Another person I must apologize for the death of Narian too, I'm sorry, but I wasn't all that attached to him and it was either him or Alex so I chose him, hope you understand. I put Lancelot at like 30 and Galahad probably like 25 years old, I think that's reasonable.

Allegra – Unfortunately, despite your lovely review, I didn't write very fast at all. I am sorry, but with luck the chapter is good enough to make up for it.

Ashley A – I'm glad you liked how Lancelot didn't tell how he got his swords, I was worried it would just annoy people. You really have done a lot for the fandom so you deserve the props (applauds), thanks for the good critique.

Flashgriffin – I mostly kept myself interested by reading other fics and looking at pictures of the awesome Lancelot, I've recently been sidetracked by another fic, but I'm still trying to work on both. It's not working out that well, but I'm trying.

Shauna – It wasn't that the mercenaries chose Lancelot as their favorite, more like he wouldn't shut up and swallow his pride so they tried to beat it out of him, and couldn't of course. I fleshed out the Gawain parts in this chapter just for you, hope you liked them, they'll be more tension from him later, man, that review is like a short novel. Thanks for the time you put into it, much appreciated.

I don't know when there will be more, but I'll let you know! Goody.


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